Preface
by tamiiland
Summary: There is something special about Sam, and the Autobots know it. Because before fear, there was trust; before Earth, there was Cybertron; before Sam, there was Sunbreeze.
1. We All Frag it Up

Read'n'Review—it feeds the muse!

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**Rated T due to ****explicit violence and strong coarse language.**

**Warnings: **Aliens – cussing – Bot!Sam – violence – characters deaths – family/friendship fluff – [will add as per request/as the story continues].

**Notes:** This is my own version of TF Bayverse's prequel. The twist is that Sam is a young Transformer called Sunbreeze, meaning he isn't some random OC. Sunbreeze is Sam; Sam is Sunbreeze. He was him before being born as himself (tricky explanation). That's what this fanfic is about, peeps. Expect all sorts of ugly warlike things, but don't forget that friendship and family are important in here. (I'm serious about the 'ugly warlike things.' It's gonna be gory and tragic in some parts. Characters will get killed or abducted; dreams will shatter; love won't prevail… You get the picture, don't you?) Concerning romance, I'll use only the **canon couples** here. And, just for the record, all Transformers are cannon—although some may be from different continuities!

_Before Earth _by **stephbee** is an eleven-chapters-long Bayverse TF fanfic that sports a similar Bot-before-human kind of plot. Our stories will have little in common, but I think she deserved a mentioning all the same.

Many thanks go to the lovely **Alathea2 **for letting me bounce ideas with her, and helping me fill some plot-holes. Also, I want to thank my **Real Life five best friends**, who will never read this story, but stick with me even when my fancraze gets the best of me (which is often—I love you, guys!).

Also, Que and Wheeljack are two different characters. So are Dino and Mirage. It'll become obvious as the story progresses!

Moreover, spelling and grammar errors are ugly. Feel free to aim so I can shoot 'em down.

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**Preface**  
**Chapter One: We All Frag it Up**

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Looking up, there was blackness, mixed with swirls of reds, blues and purples that streaked messily across Cybertron's interminable, mysterious sky. Zillions of stars twinkled from above, seemingly expressing their grief at the planet's luck with their dim glow. Being so distant, so far away in space, they were nothing but pretty points of light scattered about, and almost no one paid them much heed any more. The Great War had left little time to allow Transformers the luxury of enjoying the sky, all too worried about spotting incoming hostile fliers in the shadows.

Cybertron had no sun, and so the night had no end.

Looking down, there was despair, shown in the hundreds of corpses that lay about as if they were an atrocious addition to the landscape. Debris and rubble were the only reminders of ancient cities that had been destroyed in the flicker of a spark. Not even the neutral metropolises could claim to be out of harm's way any longer. Many of them had been devastated during the past deca-orns, which made it almost impossible to decide what was more tragic: the war itself or the mercilessness of the Decepticons.

Across the wasteland, a small yellow frame kept silently trudging on, the epitome of furtiveness. Pulse cannon ready, optics piercing, steps stealthy. Having been trained to be nothing but a scout, Bumblebee found himself exploiting his capabilities to the fullest. Alone and with a charge missing, he very much welcomed all of his spy programs, allowing them to run freely and take over his processor—as long as he didn't overload due to the sheer amount of information and archives being handled.

Not a sign of life around him, but he still felt unsafe, so strongly that he started to doubt and fear every single thought that crossed him. Something in his gears kept telling him to mistrust the quietness. A bitter anxiousness settled in his throat. Insecurity, Ratchet often said, was not the same as foreboding. Bumblebee begged to differ.

Perusing his surroundings, he looked for a hiding place, never pausing nor diminishing his speed. Bumblebee sensed optics watching him, observing his every move and waiting the indicate moment to attack. There was no one there, and yet he feared. Gullible Autobots blamed it on the wind, claiming that maddening ghostly voices were codified in it like a never-ending murmur in the quietness. Bumblebee didn't know whether to believe in these claims or not. He had to admit, though, that Cybertronian breezes did become eerier with each passing battle.

Somewhere to his left, he could hear a structure whining before giving in to the planet's gravity with a series of thuds, thumps and cracks. The sound was agonizingly loud in the quietness, and Bumblebee glared at its general direction, worried that the noise would complicate his orn even more.

Hurrying into a small cave, fretfully tucking his frame into its shadows, he beeped urgently at his leader. [Prime, sir?]

After a few tense kliks, a static transmission carried through. [Yes, Bumblebee.]

The scout tried to compose his message as nicely as he could, but he found that there weren't many possible options to pick from when it came to dropping informative bombs. [We were ambushed.]

Optimus stifled an upset growl as best as he could. [By how many?]

[Seven, sir.]

[Are you all well?]

The link screeched with a loud explosion, making Bumblebee flinch instinctively and crouch even more. He wanted to roll out of his hidey-hole and go help his Prime, but compelled himself to remain crouched and dim his now overly-bright optics. Impulsive decisions would do him no good, and although he wished he could be standing next to his leader, the scout knew that his presence would mean little, if nothing at all.

[Sir?] Bumblebee squawked.

[I am fine. Answer the question, Bumblebee.]

The young mech shook his head to focus once again. [I am unsure.]

[Explain.]

[Two Decepticons were taken down,] he clarified, trying to remember where exactly had his party members run off to in the panic. The assault had been so sudden and unexpected; the Autobots had been able to do little more than shoot blindly in a general direction before scattering. [Hoist and Motorhead retreated to the canyons, I believe, followed by three of them; the other two are after me. Sunbreeze and I got separated during the evasive action.]

Optimus growled again. [Find him. And go back to base immediately.]

[Yes, sir.]

[Do not let your guard down, Bumblebee.]

[Yes,] he said, but the link had already been severed.

Slowly peering out of the cave, the scout stood up and started running across the rubble as gently as he could. Bumblebee's survival programs automatically traced an efficient escape route for him in case things got ugly. He had grown up in a violent Cybertron, but that didn't mean that he was accustomed to fighting. A scout's function had little to do with being a front-liner. Bumblebee was a little spy that slithered himself through the blind spots of the adversary and stole information, not a warrior that charged through the enemy's forces. Though he had been trained to know his way around a fight, his espionage and specialization in defensive tactics had almost always kept him away from the true war. Even if it pained Bumblebee to admit it, he was still too young and too himself to fit comfortably in the armour of the soldier he was supposed to be.

When the need to eliminate someone arose, however, he never hesitated.

Suddenly coming to a halt, Bumblebee scanned the ruins of an ancient temple. No one else was in that place. The only ones to join him in his reconnaissance were the rusting rests of bots who might, or might not, have been his allies.

Bumblebee crouched under a toppled pillar and looked over his shoulder, pressing himself against the icy debris. The daft pair of Cons following his carefully laid trail had taken a wrong turn about seven kilometres away—which was unnerving, considering that Sunbreeze was alone and meandering about unprotected. He needed to blow something up and get their attention.

Whirring anxiously, he mentally reached out for his charge; tracking down his signal, searching for his spark.

[Sun, are you there?]

For an eternal moment, there was no answer. Then, a weak transmission answered his. [Bee-e?]

[Oh, thank Primus.] Bumblebee ran his hand down his cheek plate. [Are you okay, Sun?]

[Y-ye-e-es.]

He vented a sigh. [That is good.]

[Be-ee, whe-where a-are you-u?] Sunbreeze said, his speech reduced to nothing but stutters through the poor line. [I ca-an't he-hear you very w-well, s-so-o spe-eak slo-owly-y… Th-this l-link sucks-s-s.]

[Increase the radio wave's density and it will work better.] Bumblebee rolled his optics. The idea of modifying the frequency should come to him naturally. [I'm making sure to mislead the Decepticons,] he said, transforming his right arm into a cannon. Slowly, he positioned himself to have a better view of a pillar. [Are you sure you're okay?]

[Ye-e-e-e-eah!] Bumblebee waited as his charge manipulated his commands. [They're not on my aft anymore,] Sunbreeze declared proudly.

[Language… Where are you?]

[I'm about to reach the base. Saw it kinda pointless to be trotting around by myself with the Cons lurking like the creeps they are.]

Bumblebee silently thanked Primus for blessing the mechling with fully functional logic circuits, despite his young age. Naïveté, stupidity, or the lack of a common sense were paid for dearly during wartime. [Good. Be careful on your way.]

Sunbreeze snorted. [You don't have to tell me, you know. I'm super sneaky.]

[Yes, yes. When you get there, stay.] Before his charge could complain, he swiftly added, [Prime's orders, so do me a favour and obey.]

[Oh. Um, okay.]

[_Stay there_,] Bumblebee insisted. He switched off the link and focused on his target.

An echo of his charge's stuttering transmission at the beginning of their communication briefly occupied his processor. The youngling could manage being cute, on occasion. Bumblebee had strong suspicions that every single mech Sunbreeze had met in his short (very short, really—he had just upgraded out of his Youngling-1 armour, after all) time alive had developed, in different degrees, a soft spot for him: he was smaller than average and kind of an oddball, so many of the Autobots had a tendency to pamper him a bit, maybe because he was still in his tender age. His optics quirked in a fleeting smile, quickly replaced by the unbreakable, coldly unchangeable mask of a soldier.

"If he's still in his tender age, he shouldn't be combatting," Bumblebee muttered.

The scout fired at the pillar's middle section and rose to his pedes as it collapsed. He knew that the loud noise would lure the nearby Decepticons like fish-droids to the bait, but he wouldn't stay to confirm it. Hurrying away from the crumbling debris, he propelled himself off a nearby cliff, letting his body be engulfed by the darkness.

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When Bumblebee entered the Autobot HQ's main hall almost three joors later, he found it unusually deserted. It was understandable, seeing how many of the soldiers were away fighting back the Decepticon's latest intent of obliterating yet another city, but knowing the reason behind why the place was so oddly quiet and organized didn't make the situation any better.

The main hall was an enormous, perfectly sterile white and grey room that was connected to the entrance hangar. Being the second room an Autobot was obliged to step into after entering, one would expect it to be dirtier, but all mechs made sure of wiping or at least shaking the dirt off their armours and soles (most of the times) before entering what the big majority now considered home. An overlooked but meaningful detail.

Fellow Autobot Jolt looked up from the map he had been fumbling over and, honouring his name, jolted when he noticed the yellow bot, immediately waving at him with full energy. Bumblebee waved back, not really understanding why his comrade was so glad to see him.

The scout stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed for the first time Jolt's apprehension as he shook his arms to tell him to go away. A strong beep of distress rang through Bumblebee's link, as if to support his observations. A quick scan of the main hall determined that there were no Decepticons in the vicinity. Still, Jolt insisted in trying to warn him to get away, so he complied, albeit confusedly, and started to make his way out of the room when a roaring voice stopped him.

"There you are, Bumblebee!"

Ratchet's murderous glare almost makes him faint, and the Autobot medic lost no time in stomping up to him with outrage radiating off him. Coming to a halt just inches away, he shook a laser scalpel in front of his faceplates menacingly.

"Perhaps you can explain to me _why_ Sunbreeze was left to his luck with the Decepticons nearby," he hissed.

"Um…" Bumblebee started weakly.

Blue optics drifting nervously to a side, the scout noticed his charge wriggling behind Jazz's leg, looking between him and the medic with nervous optics. Holding up his hand, Bumblebee indicated the youngling to stay put for the time being. Letting his gaze lock with Ratchet's again, he noticed the ominous laser scalpel inching closer to his mouthplate. Bad sign.

"Well?"

"We got separated while retreating, sir. I tried to keep him close—"

"And you failed miserably at it," the older mech interrupted. "Sunbreeze arrived a while ago. Alone, preoccupied, scared_._" He poked Bumblebee's mouthplate with his scalpel each time he said a word, making the scout step back warily. "He's nothing but a mechling. Primus, he's not even meant to be in the battlefield yet, and you go and lose track of him!"

_It's not like I meant to do so,_ Bumblebee felt inclined to say, but such a backtalk would be out of place, seeing how Ratchet was right. The young bot stared at his pedes with dim optics.

"I'm sorry," he finally murmured.

Jazz edged closer, keeping Sunbreeze safely shielded by his legs, in case the nagging needed to be ended. Ratchet was an admirable mech, there was no doubt about that, but his scolding could end in reducing the other party to a pool of coolant.

"Sorry is what you should be, you bet," the medic grumbled, poking Bumblebee's mouthplate with his scalpel once more before stepping back. "Now take the rookie and go recharge."

"Yes, sir. I would like to know if the rest of the team is well, though." he said, rubbing his abused faceplates.

Ratchet glared down at him, but the smallest glint of approval shimmered in his optics for a klik. A bot that risked getting yelled at all over again just to ensure that his comrades were safe and sound deserved some recognition.

"Hoist is undented, but Motorhead managed to get his left pede blast-removed and wasn't smart enough to retrieve it, so Que's building him a new one—and we'll see what Optimus has to say about this little mess later." Ratchet pointed at Sunbreeze meaningfully, who in turn hid behind Jazz looking like he wanted to vanish.

Bumblebee widened his optics. "The Prime's back? Is he okay?"

"Of course he is okay, Bumblebee. Did your processor rust? He's Prime," Ratchet crossed his arms, careful as to not to accidentally scratch himself with the laser scalpel. "He has a few minor things here and there. Nothing I can't take care of later."

He raised an optic ridge that dared anyone to contradict his statement.

"Uh, not to interrupt the love or anythin'," said Jazz. "But weren't ya s'posed to be fixin' Camshaft, Ratchet?"

The medic glanced over his shoulder, sneering at the saboteur like he normally did. "Remind me of my chores when you're able to remember yours!"

"Ouch. Low blow."

Ignoring the silver bot, Ratchet looked back at Bumblebee. "I already checked on Sunbreeze. Your aft is next."

The scout cringed visibly. "Yes, sir."

"Follow m—"

"Whoa, hold it, hold it, hold it!" Jazz intercepted, waving his hands as he deliberately stepped forwards. "I needa talk to the kid!"

Ratchet raised an optic ridge. "So?"

"So I need to do it 'fore his check-up of doom."

Having gained the fame he had, Ratchet was used to having check-ups spoken of as if they were some kind of ultimate torture. Bumblebee presumed that only that familiarity with the expression kept the renowned medic from throwing something at the saboteur as he muttered, "And why is that?"

"'Cause I do!"

Bumblebee fiddled with his fingers as the silver bot started a verbal squabble with the chartreuse one, raptly ping-ponging his optics from one Autobot to the other as their discussion incremented its pace and volume. Ratchet seemed to be taking the conversation seriously, while Jazz simply looked amused at how worked up the medic was getting.

"Bee?"

He looked down at his charge, who had sneaked closer during the last breem. "Hey, Sun."

The youngling stared at the floor, awkwardly rubbing the back of his helmet before stealing a quick glance at him. Children were so unknowingly honest, always expressing what they felt without really meaning to do so. His charge's discomfort at whatever he was thinking (or at the prospect of voicing it) was evident. Bumblebee felt a twinge of worry at the idea of Sunbreeze admitting he no longer felt safe under his guardianship. He tilted his head in what he hoped was cheeky curiosity, encouraging Sunbreeze to relax and speak up.

"Sorry, Bee," the white youngling murmured, tentatively inching closer. "I thought they'd go easy on you if I came back fast. Guess not."

No allegations were heard, nor would be. The scout perked his antennae in mild surprise, although he wondered if he should have expected anything else from his charge. Sunbreeze trusted the scout so blindly and strongly that it boggled minds. Bumblebee quirked his optics in a small show of glee, but quickly sobered up.

"It's not your fault, Sun. Ratchet's right: I should have protected you better." He frowned. "And he did go easy on me."

"I swear, Jazz, that I'll dismantle you and sell you for scrap parts next time you're in for a surgery," the CMO snapped, and both young bots gave a little jump. Apparently, he had lost the discussion.

"Sure thing, Ratchie," the saboteur said flippantly, and ducked a smack to the back of the helm. "Whoops! Sorry, sorry. I won't call ya that anymore."

"I want that scout in his quarters in half a joor," the medic said with a growl. He pinned Bumblebee with his unbreakable gaze. "And I want _you_ well-rested for tomorrow's check-up."

"Yes, sir."

"Tomorrow," Ratchet repeated as he headed for the eastern exit of the main hall. "The moment you're done with your morning refuelling."

"I'll be there," promised Bumblebee.

"He _swears_!" Jazz added with a theatrical air to his claim.

"Good," Ratchet grumbled, and stepped out of the room with no further ado. The moment the automatic doors closed behind the medic, everyone present seemed to let out a sigh out of their vents.

Jazz hummed in mock reflection, "Makes ya wonder what crawled up his tailpipe." He let out a chuckle and rubbed the top of Sunbreeze's head. "Huh, Kiddo?"

Strolling up to Bumblebee, Jolt gave him an encouraging punch, rumbling a wry chuckle as he did so. "Don't take it personal, eh? Ratchet's just had it rough today. We all have."

"Funny part bein' it's only past noon," Jazz said. He poked Bee in the shoulder. "Ya should do what Ratchet said, though. You and Kiddo could use some shut-optic… But I hafta talk to ya first." He looked down at the white youngling and asked, "You okay with that, Kiddo?"

"Uh, yeah." Sunbreeze shrugged, not really sure as to why his opinion would matter. "Sure."

"Cool!" He skipped forwards and grabbed Bumblebee by the arm. "When we're done," he said, yanking, "you'll go to the med bay, or Ratchet'll have my cogs. An' I _like_ my cogs."

"Why do you need to speak to me, sir?" the scout asked.

"'Cause I need to. Jolt, take care a' Kiddo meanwhile."

The technician smiled down at a mildly uncomfortable Sunbreeze, who craned his neck as much as his joints would permit it in order to look at the blue mech in the face.

Bumblebee shifted in his position for a moment, praying that Jazz wasn't really planning to leave his vulnerable charge under the temporary custody of that particular bot. The youngling barely reached his knees, for crying out loud! Being as tiny as Sunbreeze was, getting used to bigger mechs was essential. He had done perfectly well in warming up to the behemoths until then, but being alone with clumsy bots could show to be too much for him to handle and actually destroy the progress they had achieved.

Jolt grinned at the saboteur.

"Sure thing, Jazz," he replied, and Bumblebee writhed internally. "You take your time."

Jazz then made a jokey salutation and proceeded to drag the younger mech out of the training hall and down a few corridors that looked boringly similar. Bumblebee felt inclined to resist the forceful cheeriness his superior was dripping and go back to his charge, but decided against it. Jazz was one of those bots who would never clog the fun unless something important needed to be seen.

Instead he pressed, "Sir, isn't there another Bot capable of looking after Sunbreeze during my absence?"

"I could ping Ratchet, if you wanna," Jazz offered breezily. He kept on tugging Bumblebee's arm even as his sudden chortles echoed down the corridors, quite possibly after having imagined the medic's attempts at babysitting a fidgety youngling such as Sunbreeze. "I'm sure he'd love to play nanny with Kiddo."

"Isn't there someone less… intimidating?"

"Yeah, but not available!" Jazz chirruped, dragging him towards a lift. He pressed his hand at a scanner on the wall, and it bleeped its approval. A soft hum reached their audios, but the saboteur started tapping his pede impatiently anyway. "Hurry, hurry…"

"I don't believe I'm allowed to go up there, sir," Bumblebee said cautiously.

Jazz waved his hand absent-mindedly at him. "Yeah, I know, but eh. It's not like anyone'll know."

The scout shuffled his pedes, uneasiness creeping up his back strut. He didn't want to antagonize the mech, but he wanted to stay out of trouble. He had already had more than his fair share of struggling for the orn. When the door slid open, however, Jazz shoved him inside, leaving no place for objections. Bumblebee buzzed quietly, admiring the incredibly sleek interior before giving his superior a self-conscious frown.

"Don't worry, ya won't get scolded if you're with me," the saboteur assured him, leaning against one of the elevator's walls casually. "Besides, the conference rooms up here are sublime, and when ya enter the right code, the doors actually _block_ and _unblock._ Ain't that cool?"

"I guess so," Bumblebee murmured.

Reaching the fifth floor, they stepped outside. The scout's systems took in the neat circular hall and sterile passageways connecting to it, as well as their sturdy doors. So many places to go to, so many rooms to explore. Bumblebee's inner playful youngling threatened to take over for a klik, but the feeling died down when he remembered he wasn't supposed to be there. He started wringing his servos.

Jazz let out a cheeky 'hah' before scurrying to an open door. "This one's empty." He stepped inside shamelessly, calling after the younger mech with no regards for being sneaky, "C'mon, Bumblebee!"

Cringing, he hurried inside the conference room, and Jazz tapped the key pad on the wall, blocking the door. He then motioned at their surroundings. "Pretty neat, don't'cha think?"

Bumblebee looked around briefly, a tad flabbergasted at having been allowed into one of the official, high-rank conference rooms. A large table rested a few metres away, flanked by many chairs and having only one placed at its head. There was a holographic projector attached in the centre of the ceiling, and Bumblebee felt the urge to turn it on and see what image it would produce. He didn't, though.

Jazz tilted his head merrily at him, making the scout wonder if he was in trouble.

"So how's it goin'?"

"Pardon, sir?"

"With Sunbreeze, duh."

"Oh," Bumblebee paused. "Sun's doing well. He's adapting to his new itinerary just fine."

"And…?"

"He hasn't shown any signs of distress."

"Cool." Jazz walked about the conference table, giving every chair a thoughtful glance. "Kiddo's really somethin' else."

"Yes." Bumblebee conceded. After a moment of hesitation, he added, "Still, he is too young and unprepared for a soldier's life."

"Hey," Jazz frowned at him. "Kiddo took the test on his own free will and passed. He has what it takes." He then scooted over to the head of the table, flopped down onto the chair and started twirling it.

"Yes, but still…"

"Then our Prime checked him out personally. If he thought Sunbreeze was ready, why shouldn't ya?" he interrupted, taking a break from twirling his chair only to kick the floor and make it spin faster. "Optimus knows what he's doin', even if the kid's just a kid."

"I know that, sir, but…"

"Oh, c'mon!" Jazz cut in from his twirling chair, and Bumblebee muted his vocalizer. "Stop worryin' so much." He regarded the scout curiously. "It's almost like you're talkin' as his brotha, instead of as his bodyguard."

Bumblebee's spark shivered in its chamber, approving and denying Jazz's comment at the same time. Sunbreeze did feel like family every now and then, but their relationship could never go beyond that of a guardian and his charge. War called for soldiers, not siblings. So, as coolly as he could, he explained, "I think he's dangerously immature, no matter my role."

"No matter your role, your main objective's to keep 'im safe." Jazz stopped spinning the chair and cocked his head. The scout could feel the azure optics below staring sternly. "That's no neutral sight, I'd say."

"He's still a youngling, and will only become an adult in several vorns from now, sir. He's not ready."

"Do ya really think there's an age to be ready for this slag? Loss, pain, chaos… Who'd want 'em as a part a' their life?"

Bumblebee fell silent, and Jazz nodded as if to say, 'That's what I thought.'

"Please, do take a seat," the Bot said, sounding more uptight than his usual self. Bumblebee felt a little oafish, almost sure that he was being mocked, but walked towards the nearest chair and sat down obediently.

Half a breem ticked by silently, and he made no move to indicate that he had stopped paying attention, despite the saboteur's obvious inactivity. Apparently, it seemed to be the exact thing Jazz wanted to ascertain before continuing. The silver mech leaned forwards, calmly sliding his visors up so he could look at Bumblebee directly.

"Kiddo chose this path all on his own. Understand?"

"I do, sir."

Jazz cupped his chin, all joking aside. "Ya gotta take care a' the brat."

"I know, sir."

"Make him feel safe."

"I try, sir."

"I know. An' I know you try hard, so chill." Jazz leaned back on the chair and put his pedes on the table. "I'm not gonna yap at ya like Ratchet did; no need to be monosyllabic. You just gotta try harder."

"I will, sir."

Jazz rolled his optics at the short answer; at the same time, Bumblebee's dimmed as disappointment and frustration grew inside of his chest.

On one servo, he was doing the best he could and improving his skills as Sunbreeze's guardian as fast as possible, but his finest efforts never seemed to be sufficient. Even though he tried and persisted, when he finally thought he got the gist of guardianship right, there was always a glaring mistake in his technique to point out. The thick uselessness that seemed to cover his actions sent him reeling with insecurity.

On the other servo, no one seemed to remember that Bumblebee hadn't had many chances to rub elbows with people of his same age very often. He had always been immersed in his training: something he didn't regret, but that had cost him dearly when it came to socializing. Any attempts at forming a solid, stable connection with his charge felt alien and harder than they should have, making Bumblebee feel bitter at the prospect that, perhaps, his spark was forever closed off to relationships of any kind due to the isolation he experienced as a child.

Jazz entwined his fingers and stared at Bumblebee with the optics of someone who cared.

"Don't be so sadistic, Bee. You're gonna blow a fuse."

Bumblebee cocked his head to the side, blinking at Jazz with surprise. It was weird being called by his nickname by a superior. Yet he couldn't help but feel sweet nostalgia. The scout shook his helmet before he got caught up in the moment.

"If you don't mind my asking—why are we having this conversation? And why now?"

"Well, being Optimus' close buddy makes me know practically all of his worries. He's kinda twitchy about this, so I decided to snoop in an' drop a word before he rips his wires off. And _now_ because I considered it a good time, seeing how you'd be drownin' in self-berating."

The scout sagged at Jazz's declaration in general, knowing that the orn couldn't get any worse.

Jazz waved his preoccupation aside. "We all frag it up. An' I know you're worried 'cause you ain't exactly a fan of mechlings, but you're doin' fine."

"I wish I were as confident as you are, sir."

Jazz chuckled heartily. "Messed up lotsa times, n' still alive! Failure's the best tutor out there; comes hand-in-hand with experience."

"Then Sunbreeze should have a more apt guardian until I've gained enough experience to take care of him properly," Bumblebee said firmly. Even if Jazz believed him to be doing respectably, he was still unconvinced. "I have yet much to learn and we can't permit ourselves to endanger a youngling's life."

"Naw… Ya kiddin' me? You're perfect for the job! Besides, we have lotsa brats in our army, and most of 'em are takin' care of themselves just fine."

"Yes, but they shouldn't―" the scout's heated protest broke into static as he reminded himself just who he was talking to. More often than not, Bumblebee had trouble remembering that the mech sitting in front of him at that moment was _important_. The casualness with which Jazz handled both superiors and subordinates didn't truly cope with his position as head of Special Operations. Besides, he was a tiny buffoon who made even the sternest bot struggle to take him seriously, despite his deadliness. Then again, he himself was not exactly a grim behemoth.

"Bumblebee," started Jazz patiently, with genteel azure optics, "they _wanna_ serve to our cause. If we start plucking 'em out now, we're gonna need a reason better than 'you're way too kiddie to be here, sonny.' I'd be surprised if they didn't shoot my shiny aft outta their faces if I ever came up with that slag."

"Youngsters should obey their elders and superiors. I'm sure they would listen." Bumblebee grimaced at how implausible that sounded, earning himself an amused snort from the smaller mech. "After some persuading."

Jazz snickered as he shook his head minutely. "They're more loyal than obedient. Little fraggers won't leave us and ya know it. Pit, _you_ are a clear example a' that kinda conduct, so what makes you think they'll listen?"

"But…" Bumblebee flailed. "But Sunbreeze is so… so…" He gesticulated helplessly with his servos, trying to explain what words could not. Giving up, he slouched as he warbled wearily.

"So what?"

The scout scowled at the floor, somewhat sourly. "Many things," _Vulnerable, credulous, weak, innocent…_ "He's too young to be dealing with my mistakes."

"Oh, please, don't give me that age slag again. You're a brat y'self!" Jazz said, and then quirked his optic ridge at Bumblebee's poorly hidden annoyance. "Well, ain't'cha?"

"That's how most mechs think of me, apparently," he answered stiffly.

Now both of Jazz's optic ridges were raised in surprise. "That bothers ya?"

"Well, I… That is to say…" Bumblebee squirmed uncomfortably. To admit to this particular Autobot something that would surely seem like a childish behaviour was not exactly what he believed to be the best way to make a good impression on a potential mentor. Nevertheless, he was above lies. "Slightly, yes."

"Hmm. Well, don't overheat over that, yeah? It just ain't worth it." Jazz drummed his fingers on the table. "They'll realise you grew up, eventually."

Bumblebee nodded resignedly as his gaze drifted off. The saboteur's pep talks always made him consider things he hadn't.

Suddenly, the scout clenched his fists in anger.

"Sir, regarding today's mission…"

Jazz's chuckles sent the rest of his phrase drifting. Bumblebee's doorwings perked up in hurt annoyance, and the saboteur waved his hand apologetically. "M'sorry, but ya look like you're gonna frag my faceplates up any klik now."

"Not at all. But I do have a few questions to make."

"G'wan. I'm listening."

Bumblebee didn't need to be told twice. He reformulated the question that had popped into his mind to make it less accusing. "Wasn't it supposed to be a low risk assignment?"

"Yeah. It was."

The yellow mech crossed his arms and lifted his chin in the air, offended. Righteousness and compliance towards his superiors could go to the pit for the time being. "So?"

"No clue. We've no idea 'bout where the Cons popped out from. Maybe they were in the middle of a recon, just like ya."

"That's not very likely, sir."

"Damn, does that snobbish accent a' yours makes ya sound angry!" Jazz said, letting out a huffed laugh as he breezily slid his visors on. "I know it's unlikely, but it's one of the best hypothesis we've right now."

Bumblebee frowned angrily, whirring and warbling to himself more than usual to show his stress.

"Take it easy, mech," Jazz advised, shrugging. "No one's blaming ya for being caught off guard. You couldn't've known."

"But I should have. The team was relying on my scanners."

"We'll have to get 'em upgraded, then. C'mon, Bumblebee, stop broodin' already." Jazz sighed wearily and started to rub his forehead, a tic he had when he wished someone would stop being stubborn. "Sun is safe and sound; so are Hoist and Motorhead—except for his pede, but those are details. Can't ya just let it be for now?"

The scout warbled and swung his head from side to side in a 'so-so' fashion, finally giving Jazz the smallest of nods. "Okay."

"That's what I wanted to hear," the saboteur said, straightening triumphantly.

"But what if they knew about our mission? What if they're extracting the information from our computers?" Bumblebee's optics widened in horror. "What if there's a traitor amongst us?"

Jazz seemed to stiffen for a moment, but then he slouched again against the chair, letting out a strangled groan. "Tell ya what: If it turns out there's a traitor, _then_ we'll worry. For now, we can't be sure, an' it's pointless to make a fuss outta nothing."

Bumblebee vented a sigh, knowing that the saboteur was right. Fretting over unfounded thoughts would only cause more harm than good. The technicians and research teams had their servos more than full with trickier, solid problems, and something as delicate as claiming there was a spy in the ranks would send everyone's trust plummeting to the pit. Not that the hypothesis would be shared with all the Autobot faction, but things such as that usually slipped their way through every audio, some way or another.

Jazz got up and waltzed to the door as he said, "M'glad we had this li'l talk. Hope ya'll take it easier from now on, yeah?" He smirked while tapping the keypad. Bumblebee was sure that the saboteur was winking at him from under his visors. The door bleeped and hissed open. "Now go back to Kiddo."

Bumblebee stood up. "Yes, sir." When he reached the door, he turned around and gazed down at Jazz, who was a head shorter. "I, um… Thank you."

The saboteur's smirk morphed into a smile. "Ya welcome, scout."

* * *

Stepping into the main hall, Bumblebee called out for his charge. A snickering Jolt lost his smile as soon as he saw him, and proceeded to remove his arm's from around Sunbreeze's neck. The youngling started to vent heavily, rubbing the joints under his jaw as if the playful headlock had really been strangling him.

"Hey, Bumblebee," said Jolt uneasily. He chuckled awkwardly and patted the child's helmet. "We were just playin' around."

"What." The youngling stared at the much larger mech harshly, trying to catch his breath. "That didn't feel like 'playing around' at all. You were choking me!"

"Aw, please, you're exaggerating," Jolt insisted, crouching down and giving Sunbreeze a tiny shove. "Stop bein' a drama lord or Bee will get all worked up."

The yellow scout narrowed his optics at the technician. He could feel his arm burning, wanting to switch from 'unimpressive digits' to 'substantially harmful cannon,' but he obliged himself to remain civilized. The last thing he wanted was to be a bad influence on Sunbreeze.

"Come here, Sun," he said slowly, and the youngling gladly obeyed. Fixing Jolt with the deadliest glare he could summon despite his short height, he sneered, "Be more careful next time, you glitch."

The blue mech frowned at him, straightening. "Oy, don't you go insulting me—"

Before Bumblebee could stop himself, he shoved Jolt by the breastplate in a very similar way to how he used to shove Cliffjumper in their sparring games. Snapping out of his bravado-driven trance, his blue optics widened in disbelief and glanced upwards to meet with equally shocked ones.

"What the frag_?"_

"Um… You should know that treating defenceless younglings like you did is frowned upon by our faction," Bumblebee said, shaking a finger at Jolt and hoping his chastising distracted the older mech. "Shame on you!"

Sunbreeze blinked up at him funnily. Jolt simply stared with a mix of surprise and incredulity on his faceplates. "Are you serious?" Thinking he expected an answer, Bumblebee nodded. The technician struggled to hide a grin. "'Shame on you'? Really?" He snorted. "What are you, Ratchet or somethin'?" He then let out a series of clicks and warbles, said something so softly that Bumblebee couldn't hear it, and finally started laughing.

Giving him a weird look, Bumblebee ushered Sunbreeze towards the door. "Uh, okay, we'll be leaving now."

"Yeah, fine, whatever," Jolt sniggered, waving them off.

In less than a klik, Bumblebee had the youngling being dragged down the HQ's corridors as they headed to the quarters' section. He knew that his grip was making Sunbreeze slightly uncomfortable, but he couldn't help the possessiveness that had taken over him. That orn's happenings were finally catching up to him, and he found himself unwilling to let go of his charge as the slow-in-coming panic settled inside him.

"I'm not that defenceless," Sunbreeze muttered after several breems, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

Bumblebee shot him a look over his shoulder. "Yes, you are."

The youngling frowned. "But… um…"

"But…?" the scout prompted.

"I thought passing a test early meant I'm not defenceless."

They walked down another corridor and Bumbeblee decided to turn left and avoid the recreation room. Who knew just how many spark-smothering stares he would get due to putting 'that nice rookie's' safety on the line. He was sure that the news had spread like flaming Energon, and even though it was not in his nature to escape a confrontation, he had already filled his quota of nagging for the orn.

"Passing _that_ test," Bumblebee emphasized, "only proves that you have the skills for a future warrior and nothing else."

"You sure? 'Cause, you know, I can totally remember Optimus saying I had what it took to fight for our cause."

"My conjectures are my own," the scout said swiftly. He wouldn't put his disagreement with the Prime into words. He wasn't falling for that trick again any time soon.

"Hey, Bee?" He made a _click-click_ sound to let Sunbreeze know that he was listening. "Are you angry?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"I, uh, snapped at Jolt." There was a pause, but Bumblebee remained silent as he dragged his charge. "Didn't I?"

"You got away with it," he assured, trying to hide how surprised he was; he hadn't even noticed Sunbreeze's lack of decorum. "You will learn to be respectful as you grow up."

"And, uh… your grip's kinda tight."

"Oops." He loosened his hold, and Sunbreeze chirped gratefully. The thankfulness was cut short, though, when the scout stopped abruptly, making his charge run into his leg. Bumblebee steadied him, buzzing apologetically.

"Ow, Bee!"

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed at his own carelessness. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Ow, but yeah," Sunbreeze rubbed his olfactory sensor, giving him a half-sparked glare.

Bumblebee patted his charge's white helmet. "Don't worry. I didn't even scratch you."

The youngling nodded silently, observing with curious attentiveness at his protector when he turned from him and started tiptoeing away. He wondered if it was usual scout behaviour; he still wasn't very good at picking up Bumblebee's specific spy-like quirks. Something akin to amusement tugged his spark when said bot furtively peeked around the corner.

"What'cha doing?"

"Scanning the area."

"Well, yes, I can tell that by the way you're flapping your antennae like you're glitched," he pointed out, frustrated. "I meant: why are you doing what you're doing?"

Being so close to their quarters, the child's confusion at Bumblebee's seemingly inexplicable behaviour was comprehensible. However, if he had stopped to consider the different causes that might have triggered the scout's stealth systems, the reason he was asking for would appear easily:

"Safety."

The juvenile huff was not unexpected. Neither were Sunbreeze's protests, which proclaimed that it was unlikely that anything bad happened inside the safe quarters of the HQ. Bumblebee simply grumbled reprovingly at his innocence, "The least likely is the most dangerous." He straightened to his full height. "You just have to remember today if you don't believe me."

At this, the mechling remained silent.

Bumblebee gave a few steps, entered a code in one of the many keypads placed on the passageway's wall, and waited for their quarter's automatic door to slide open. Then, he practically threw Sunbreeze inside the room before entering himself and commanding the entrance to close.

"Berth. Recharge. Now," Bumblebee ordered. Sunbreeze's stress levels were probably at their peak, and he was not going to risk getting one of his delicate mechanisms to malfunction.

"Eww… Why you talk choppy?" Sunbreeze mumbled, but made his way to the bunk berth embedded in the wall anyway; no point in denying being exhausted. The child collapsed happily onto the one that was closest to the floor. He was not even going to try to coax his guardian into letting him use the top berth—for this once.

Ignoring his charge's comment, Bumblebee walked to his desk and grabbed one of his several datapads, checking with quick fingers the latest updates on pending assignments and who had decided, or been designed, to take care of them. After a breem or so, he said, "There are no missions appointed for us tomorrow, so you may recharge away."

"That sounds…" Sunbreeze vented a long, bleary gust of air, "so _awesome._ I could use some rest," he slurred. "I'm drained."

"I can see that," Bumblebee's optic ridges rose expressively.

"You gonna turn the lights off? Tell me you are, 'cause I don't wanna get up."

"Yes, I am," Bumblebee's optics smiled. "Just give me a breem. I have to write the report."

"Ugh, Bee, are you serious?" Sunbreeze vented a long-suffering sigh. He peeked at the scout from the corner of his optic, barely shifting his comfortable position in the berth. "You need to recharge just like everyone else."

Bumblebee hushed him absent-mindedly as he sat down in front of his desk. He wouldn't stand up again until he finished typing a scrupulous written explanation with the details of the mission, such as the Autobots involved, their goal, the outcome, and the like. Once he was done with that, he would upload everything to the database, and leave it to a specialized tactician to recompile and mash all the information together into one uniquely spotless report. Said archive would withhold the most important data of that particular mission, in case any other Autobot wanted to have access to it in the future.

"… Shouldn't I help?" asked Sunbreeze, swatting enough of his fatigue away to focus his optics on the yellow mech and propel himself on his elbows.

Bumblebee shifted in his chair, twsiting his torso so that he could look at his charge. "What? Why?" he inquired innocently.

"Well, y'know… Up until now, you've always done both of our reports, and I always had to tell you my point of view and stuff like that," Sunbreeze recalled. "So aren't you supposed to ask me, I dunno, stuff?"

Bumblebee frowned, tapping his knee plate with his free servo. "Well… No. Not for now."

Sunbreeze blinked. "You sure about that?"

"Yes. We will write one report, like always, but our texts will diverge at some point, in this one," he explained. "You'll have to be a bit more explicative and specific about what happened—from your point of view."

The youngling's drowsy optics seemed to lit up with comprehension. "It has to do with the splitting up and all that fiasco, doesn't it?"

Bumblebee nodded, engines chirping.

The datapad on his servo beeped quietly, and both of their gazes were drawn to it. Stifling a long venting, Bumblebee tapped it twice and discovered a report about Wheeljack's newest invention and how it was now officially open to public use, seeing how it had stopped that annoying habit it had of blowing up.

"What is it?" Sunbreeze asked, curious.

"Wheeljack's new jet pack model stopped exploding," Bumblebee said, downloading the file's information and processing it. "There are about seven of them available for now, but I'm sure he'll build more soon."

Sunbreeze seized him amusedly. "You want one, don't you?"

"I have doorwings, Sun." He pointed at his pretty kibble, making a flapping motion for further emphasis. "I can't have a jet pack."

"You can have them removed," the youngling said, rolling over and raising himself on his elbows.

"I will not have my doorwings removed!" Bumblebee said, insulted at how Sunbreeze could have thought of that as a plausible option. "I've had them since my first frame! They're a part of me; of who I am. How could I possibly _not_ have them?"

"By getting them removed?"

Bumblebee narrowed his optics at him. "I'm not getting them removed, Sun." The youngling giggled and covered his mouth with his servo, trying to muffle the sound. He wobbled when he lost balance and let himself fall against the berth again, continuing to chortle himself silly. Bumblebee grunted, squinting his optics so much that they were only two glowing blue slits. "Seriously, I'm not."

Sighing merrily, Sunbreeze blinked at him. "I know you're not. I was just joking."

Giving his charge one last disapproving look, Bumblebee's attention drifted back to his datapad. "You rest. I'll start our report now; we'll do your part when you come online."

"Okay… Goodnight, Bee," Sunbreeze said.

The scout gazed up at him. "It's barely past noon, you know."

"Would you rather have me say 'good orn'?"

Bumblebee considered it for a klik. "No. It sounds weird. But saying goodnight in the middle of the orn is also weird."

Sunbreeze raised his optic ridges amusedly. "Oh, so it's a chicken and egg situation."

The scout gave him an odd look. "A what situation?" he asked, and Sunbreeze frowned, giving him an odd look in turn.

"A chicken and egg situation…"

"Oh," Bumblebee said, flattening his antennae as comprehension dawned upon him. "I think you mean cyber-chicken and egg-droid."

Technically, it wasn't a 'chicken and egg' situation, anyhow, but he decided to let that pass.

"Well, yeah…" Sunbreeze canted his head to the side in confusion. "Why? What did I say?"

Bumblebee stared at the child several kliks before looking away. "Uh, nothing. I might have heard you wrong."

"Uh-huh. Right." Sunbreeze chuckled once before snuggling against his berth, fatigue taking over his systems as his optics dimmed. "Anyway—G'night, Bee."

"Goodnight, Sun."

Datapads neatly set in a pile at the left of his desk, Bumblebee made sure to disconnect his vocal processor in order to let Sunbreeze rest undisturbed by noise. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that the mechling had lost no time in entering the deepest level of doze, which was good.

He set in front of him the particular datapad he used to archive and write reports alike, in case he required to compare the new ones with other assignments of the same grade of difficulty and investigate, principally, if his effectiveness had increased or suffered a blow. Most of the times, Bumblebee's was, from one to ten, somewhere between eight point eight-six and nine point seven-zero… Although Optimus insisted that his efficiency _had_ to be nine point nine-something (if not a perfect ten) and that he was just altering the numbers to be humble, because he was simply a superb scout.

In this mission, however, Bumblebee would be surprised if he reached three point zero.

Scratch that.

Two point zero.

He heard Sunbreeze's unconscious whistle as he slipped even deeper into slumber.

Bumblebee turned round to look at his charge. The youngling's relaxed white frame was practically melting into the berth, and his hands loosely fisted. His barely parted lips let out a hissing sound every now and then, and his spark pulse hummed gently. He had fallen into recharge with his body facing him, perhaps in an unconscious search for reassurance. Everything about him spoke of jarring innocence and immaturity.

The moment he thought this, Bumblebee's vents let out a heavy sigh and he flexed his digits with restlessness.

Getting up from the desk, he walked over to the bunk berth and knelt down next to Sunbreeze. Reaching out, he used his index finger to gently trace the outline of his charge's helmet, conscious not to rouse him from his rest.

Kindly, Bumblebee warbled affectionately at his charge, even though it was in vain, for the youngling's audios were long offline with recharge. He vented another round of fresh air to keep his processor from overheating. But he was so furious! Even though his body language only expressed his usual amenability, Bumblebee's mind was filled with antipathy; and how could it not be overwhelmingly so, seeing how the very Optimus Prime had turned a blind optic to this child's safety.

It had never been Bumblebee's intention to get personal with Sunbreeze, but it was practically impossible to maintain the professionalism for so long. The child was amicable and faithful, and had always been, minus their first encounter; younglings tended to get prickly with strangers.

Nevertheless, and no matter how nice Sunbreeze could be, he was still naïve.

Bumblebee swept his worried blue optics across his charge's structure, so small and brittle. The youngling barely reached his waist, and his frame was too young and unprepared, not to mention that his body's colours had yet to make themselves visible. All Bumblebee and the other mechs could discern was the basic silvery white exoskeleton everyone had sported when little, mixed with the default blacks and greys of the hydraulics and wiring.

The mechling's audio sensors spun and his off-lined optics twitched once. The yellow scout froze every single nut and bolt his body had been moving, making the room grow quiet. Perhaps he had, in the midst of his thinking, been buzzing and warbling without noticing. Bumblebee hated the idea of having interrupted Sunbreeze's peaceful recharge.

A quick scan strictly focused on the child told him that his charge had not even stirred, so he loosened his tense shoulders. A hitched spark-pulse, though, indicated that something in Sunbreeze's rest was going awry. Bumblebee shifted closer, not knowing if he should wake him up. For all he knew of EMP fields, the youngling could simply be defragging his systems from a particularly corrupted file, and that action be the responsible for the anomaly. Rubbing a servo against his weary optics, the scout decided to le it be for now. He straightened and tiptoed back to the desk, now really focusing on the task at hand.

He had lied when he told Sunbreeze that he could rest; the report was very much needed at the earliest, but he wouldn't set paperwork above his charge's well-being. To keep him awake and reminiscing about the unpleasantly dangerous events that he had lived over the last joors was not Bumblebee's cube of Energon.

That made him realise that he had to find something to keep Sunbreeze entertained when he on-lined. In the case that the child came online with signs of stress, Bumblebee would know that he needed a distraction. Considering how Optimus had given him the full custody of this particular youngling, Bumblebee was going to make sure that Sunbreeze got to calm down before tormenting his head with hostile memoirs, and, he thought smugly, he wouldn't ask for anyone's permission.

[Wheeljack?] he beeped.

[Hi, Bumblebee,] answered the scientist. [All good?]

[Uh… I… um.] The scout decided not to answer that question. [Sir, I need your assistance with a certain matter.]

[Ooh, really now?] asked the old mech curiously. [And what might this 'certain matter' be, huh? An upgrade? New weapons? Optic wipers?]

Bumblebee vented an amused sigh; Wheeljack always seemed to have extra energy stored in his banks. [Actually, I was hoping you had something harmless yet thrilling—for my charge.]

There was a moment of silence; then, the scientist's hesitant voice carried through,[ Like… a toy?]

[No,]Bumblebee said patiently. Sunbreeze had stopped owning marbles and rag dolls at least half a vorn ago, claiming that he was a grown up and thus didn't need them. The scout understood; he had done the same when he had joined the Autobots officially. [Not a toy, Wheeljack. An upgrade. A harmless one, that is. One he can control.]

[Eh… are you sure? Isn't he way too kiddie?]

Bumblebee wondered if Jazz had taught the old mech that expression, or the other way round. [As long as it's something simple, I'm sure he can handle it just fine.]

[Okay, then. Oh, do I have the _perfect_ upgrade for the kid! He'll love it, and it'll help him to get away from loopers faster, too.]

[But it's harmless, right?] Bumblebee pressed.

[Yes, yes, don't worry. They're just a pair of retractable wheels.]

[A structure upgrade?] the scout frowned at Sunbreeze's sleeping form, unconsciously caressing his head as he heard Wheeljack's eager affirmation. [But won't the installation hurt?]

[Nah.]

[You do remember that his frame is still very fragile, right?]

[Yes, Bumblebee, I remember; my memory chips are just fine,] the scientist chided gently. [He'll feel his pedes a bit funny at first, but nothing else!]

[What kind of funny?]

[Hmm…] Wheeljack mused, not really knowing what kind of answer Bumblebee wanted. [Nice-funny?] he offered, somewhat lamely.

[Are you absolutely sure?]

[When have I ever failed you? With a stable creation, that is.]

If Bumblebee had had his vocal processors online, he would have let out an honest chuckle. Memories of disastrous explosions, sputtering wires and loud cussing assaulted his mind. How he had loved to slink between the older mechs' knees as the scientist wreaked havoc once again, trying to get a glimpse of the experiment gone wrong as the adults round him whirred and buzzed to get everything under control, cursing Wheeljack's unstable inventions all the while.

Before the war, that had been one of the major worries: What the unpredictable mech would blow up next. 'The day he convinces a Thetaconian to hand over his cannons, I'm off to the furthest colony,' Ratchet would mutter darkly like a motto, pushing burnt wires and half-melted metals into the nearest trash bin.

Bumblebee missed being troubled about minimal things such as that.

[If it's stable creations that we're talking about… then you never have.]

[There, see? Trust me, the kid will love it.]

The scout hummed pensively. He walked up to his desk and sat down as silently as he could; absent-mindedly, he started to reorganize the datapads just to keep his servos busy. [What about scanning sensors? Anything new?]

[Primus, Bumblebee,] Wheeljack exclaimed through the line. [You got the ones you have now not even two deca-orns ago!]

[So there _is_ something new,] Bumblebee said triumphantly.

[And I take it you already want to ditch yours?]

Bumblebee shrugged even though Wheeljack couldn't possibly see him. [I just want to have the latest upgrades; I need to be ready.]

[I can't deny it.]

[What are the improvements?]

[Oh, you know,] Wheeljack said in mocking detachedness. [Lighter, smaller…]

[Sharper?]

[You can bet your armour,] came the smug reply.

Bumblebee nodded to himself approvingly. [I want one, then.]

Wheeljack snorted. [Figures. When are you two coming?]

[Tomorrow. I-I-I mean,] he quickly reformuled, stiffening his doorwings unconsciously, [if you're not busy.]

[No, I'm not, but that soon? You got the cyber-hounds from the pit hot on your aft or something?]

[W—]

[Don't answer that,] Wheeljack said with a flat tone. [I'll have everything ready for you two tomorrow. Go catch some shut-optic, will ya?]

[Yes.]

[You may be dismissed and all that stuff… Go catch some recharge!]

[_Yes_,] Bumblebee answered, rolling his optics. The coddling side of Wheeljack was surfacing from behind his mad scientist charade. He hurried to end the transmission before he was suffocated in cosy sparkling talk. [Bumblebee out.]

He turned to the task at hand, but not before one last glance at his slumbering charge. The hitch was still there, but it wasn't worsening nor improving. Bumblebee briefly wondered if he should worry; a hitch was a hitch, after all. Not all hitches were bad, however, and that's what made his processor glitch. He wished guardianship were an easier task. Shuttering his optics once, the scout propelled himself antennae-deep into writing the report. In spite of doing a chore that was not entertaining in the least, the joors flew by quickly and it was late into the afternoon when Sunbreeze startled himself online, letting out a small keen that caught even him off guard.

"B-Bee?" he called, holding his hands to his chest, but Bumblebee was already there, kneeling next to the berth and running gentle digits down his white helmet while crooning kindly. The scout silently cursed the hitch and his negligence to the pit and back.

"I'm here. Don't worry, I'm here," he soothed, his voice full of static due to having been offline for so many joors.

"I th-think I had a nightmare," Sunbreeze choked out.

Bumblebee nodded sympathetically, his optics dim with worry. "So I see. Don't worry; it wasn't real."

"But it felt real. A lot," the youngling looked at him with optics that seemed too large. "I was alone and surrounded by green."

"Green," the scout repeated, befuddled. "Green?"

Sunbreeze nodded uneasily. "It was _everywhere._ Actually, I was surrounded by a bunch of colors, but green was, you know, the predominant one… Anyway, that's not the point! I was alone and I didn't remember you."

"You didn't… Wait, you knew you didn't remember me?" The dream was getting odder by the klik.

"It felt lonely, so I knew that something important was missing," Sunbreeze said, trying to explain what had upset him so much. He chirruped worriedly and then glared at his friend. "You left me."

Bumblebee tried his hardest to ignore the small tinge of hurt annoyance he felt at the unfair accusation, and instead held his charge down with more force than needed when he attempted to sit up. "No, I didn't. It was just a nightmare, and I was never in it to begin with."

"Which means you left me before the dream had even started, you half-bit."

"Hey," Bumblebee frowned down at him. "Language. Who taught you those words?" Sunbreeze squirmed, not giving a thing away but getting nervous all the same. "I asked who taught you those words."

"Mechs who don't leave me."

With exasperation, Bumblebee pushed Sunbreeze's helmet against the berth, and the child gasped. "It was just a nightmare, Sun. I'll never leave you. No one will."

"And what if," Sunbreeze started, pinning him with a turquoise gaze from behind the yellow digits, "we get separated?"

"We got separated today, right?" Bumblebee's optics shifted into a smile. "And look at us now."

Sunbreeze allowed himself to be comforted, but the deep scowl in his face didn't give the impression of leaving soon. Bumblebee poked him between the optic ridges and huffed, "Would you stop that frowning? You're too young to have such a nasty expression on you."

"I can worry about stuff," Sunbreeze muttered, swatting the offending servo away.

"Yes, you can," Bumblebee admitted, tickling his charge's sensitive neck joints and causing the child to howl in laughter, "but it won't get you anywhere!"

Bumblebee tickled Sunbreeze some more before he decided that it was enough, to which the youngling answered with an attempted poke to the abdominal joints. He slapped the digits playfully.

"Now, now, little youngling," he said, imitating Ratchet's reproving sneer. "Behave."

"As if. And you're a worrywart yourself, anyway."

Bumblebee regarded him with a flat look. "A what?"

"A killjoy?"

"Oh." He blinked, then stiffened. "I'm not a killjoy, you little…!" At a loss of words, Bumblebee brought a datapad out of his subspace and hit Sunbreeze in the head with it. The child whined his discontent, but he simply overrode his petty complaints. "But, in the hypothetical case that I _really_ were a killjoy, I would tell you to do what I say and not what I do."

"That quote is older than time. How old-fashioned can you get?"

"As much as I want, I guess," the scout shrugged, then stroked Sunbreeze's head energetically, earning himself a yelp of indignation. "Now go back to rest. I'll stay here until you offline."

"Um, I-I don't… I think I'll stay awake for a while," said Sunbreeze, fiddling with his digits.

"Scared of the nightmare coming back?"

"What?" he snorted. "Naw! I just don't feel tired."

"Uh-huh." Bumblebee raised an optic ridge even as he told himself that it might hurt his charge's feelings. He subspaced the datapad again. "Well, if that's the case then, I'll go and finish writing our report."

"Can't you, uh, write it here?" Sunbreeze asked, patting the tiny empty space besides him. Bumblebee canted his head; he would never fit in there.

As if on cue, Sunbreeze scooted to a side, leaving a larger portion of the berth free for the scout. He gave his charge a sidelong glance, hoping the youngling didn't expect that spot to be magically big enough for his Small Adult-sized frame. If he really wanted him to be his living pillow for the night, he would have to stop hogging the berth.

"Please?"

Venting a sigh, Bumblebee warbled affirmatively and went to retrieve the datapad from his desk. He then walked back to the very spot in which he had been kneeling and sat there, cross-legged and casually leaning against the berth. "I'm good here."

Electrifying blue optics searched for the youngling's gaze and twinkled reassuringly. Sunbreeze chirruped noncommittally, but almost instantly broke into a wide smile, mutely appreciating what his friend was doing.

"Will you rest now?" Bumblebee asked, raising his servo to graze Sunbreeze's forehead.

The mechling nodded, optics already fading to black as he leaned into the soothing touch of his guardian. "Yeah."

"I'm right here, if you need anything," Bumblebee whispered at Sunbreeze and looked at him for a few kliks before continuing his writing. He fiddled with the corner of the datapad. Maybe he could ask Sunbreeze a thing or two about what he had been through. Just a few harmless questions and he would be done with the damned report. Bumblebee turned around. "Hey, Sun—"

All systems in deep recharge and the secondary processor running the defragging programs, the scout had never seen a youngling fall asleep so quickly. His optics quirked in a smile. The questions could wait until Sunbreeze woke up; there was no hurry in handing in the report. An orn wouldn't really make that much of a difference. Bumblebee dropped the datapad on his lap and stretched.

The bleary sigh that escaped his vents was out before he could stiffen it.

Deciding that it would be best of he caught some rest, too, he got up and walked to his desk, turning off the datapad and carefully putting it with the others. Checking his inner chronometer, he realized that it was almost nightly refuel time. He frowned; they hadn't refuelled in all day. Ratchet would be angry if he didn't make Sunbreeze ingest some energon, but the child was already recharging, and finally at peace, too…

He would make Sunbreeze refuel first thing tomorrow. For now, rest was a priority. Bumblebee's main processor made one last rerun of the events that had occurred that day, simply to confirm that he wasn't forgetting anything. When nothing appeared, he made his way to where Sunbreeze was resting and scanned him afresh thoroughly, buzzing pleasantly when he found him to be stable.

Bumblebee gave a step back to retire to his berth, wavered, tentatively looked at his charge again (as if expecting Sunbreeze to suddenly come online), and finally leaned over.

"I'm going to recharge now," he whispered to the unconscious child. "I'll be right up the ladder, if you need me."

Bumblebee then climbed said ladder, which was attached to the wall, with a tired whirr. He felt remorseful for not staying put next to his charge's berth, but he preferred to break this minor promise to going offline with fatigue in the middle of a crucial moment. Crawling into the top berth, Bumblebee tossed around for a few breems until he found a comfortable position. If Sunbreeze needed something, he would rouse him.

The next moment, the scout was offline.


	2. You Ready?

Read'n'Review—it feeds the muse!

* * *

**Preface  
Chapter Two: You Ready?**

* * *

Wheeljack's workshop was, to put it mildly, a place in which complete wreck was the indisputable sire. The enormous room was filled to the brim with clutter of all kinds, ranging from useless junk to stable inventions. One of the many rules to survive a visit to the mech was to simply stay away from both the junk and the inventions; anything that looked like it had been tampered with was dangerous, and so were the objects that looked deceivingly harmless. The Golden Rule had remained throughout the deca-vorns: do not grab, touch or look (because, sometimes, the inventions booted up when someone gazed at them—which was very disturbing indeed).

The workshop had two entries: the front door was medium-sized and was used by every mech who wanted or needed to enter Wheeljack's domains; it had a layer of Cybertronium in order to make it more resilient to explosions. The back door was connected to the evaluation chamber, which was fortified with a force field generator; this allowed the inventor to blast himself to bits in relative privacy whenever he tested a prototype.

Numerous racks, shelves and cabinets of all sizes and with all kinds of contents could be seen throughout the room. From the ceiling hung hundreds of wires, cables and chains of different sizes and materials. He even had them in different colours, and some of them were curly. The thinnest ones had pieces of metal tied at the end to keep them from curling up and knotting. During Sunbreeze's first orns as a soldier, he had taken a particular, mischievous pleasure in swatting those thin cables around, making Wheeljack jump out of his armour in humorous anguish as he attempted to keep them from getting tangled.

Bumblebee would be lying if he said that Sunbreeze hadn't changed since those first times in the faction. Putting up a strong front had never been the youngling's forte. Despite his attempts to hide it, the scout would sometimes find him curled up in his berth, mourning the death and despair that enclosed his life. His stubbornness, however, made up for his moments of weakness far and away. Sunbreeze balked fiercely whenever Bumblebee or one of the members of the Elite Guard tried to coax him into stepping down from his position as a junior warrior. He wasn't tough, but refused to be seen as weak, so he laughed and lazed around like any normal youngling would, as if to prove that he wasn't all that broken inside. But there was a distinct lilt of strength learnt the rough way in whatever he did.

Most of the adult Bots feared that his psyche coding had been irreparably damaged due to being exposed to great amounts pressure from an early age. Consequently, to say that Bumblebee was beyond himself with joy when Sunbreeze broke into a fit of authentic laughter was a complete understatement.

Leaning against one of the many tables in the room, with his arms crossed, Bumblebee's optics quirked happily. Giggling some more, his charge swished his legs back and forth as he sat at the edge of Wheeljack's workbench. He kept on l and his eyes dimmed in calm peace. Bumblebee could practically see his charge's thoughts: he had just had his first specific upgrade. _He_ had _just_ had his _very first_ specific upgrade! Not a routinely check-up or an ordinary-yet-exciting full-frame replacement, but a _specific_ upgrade. His leg structures were now equipped with built-in wheels that would make him faster, if the need ever presented itself. Sunbreeze couldn't see the wheels because they were retracted at that moment, but the fact that they could retract made it all even better for the child, and Bumblebee knew it.

"Thanks, Wheeljack," Sunbreeze said reverentially, letting his grin broaden as he wiggled his pedes again. "This is so totally awesome."

"Of course it is," responded Wheeljack, giving the youngling's knee a satisfied pat as he straightened. The older mech chuckled and crossed his arms, exchanging an amused look with Bumblebee before flashing his fins proudly. "I made it. It's grand."

"And it doesn't explode," Sunbreeze added, shrugging cheekily when the inventor gave him a half-sparked glare.

Bumblebee rolled his optics, unimpressed by his charge's inexistent capability to show correctness unless he had an energon blade poking his neck joints and a very malicious Decepticon murmuring dark threats involving the youngling's cherished few, and maybe some turbo-puppies. "Manners, Sun."

Sunbreeze vented long-sufferingly and Bumblebee gave him a stern look, not really too keen on letting his charge become a snarky, sarcastic, conceited half-bit. The child pouted. "Alright, alright. Sorry."

"It's okay," Wheeljack said, grabbing the spanner he had used to install the wheels, "but you might want to be a bit more respectful around other mechs. Not all of them are as informal as me."

He backslapped some kibble and empty cans carelessly off the closest workbench, not even sparing them a second glance as they clattered noisily to the floor. Reaching for a bottle of alcohol that looked nearly empty, the inventor poured what few drops were left of the liquid on the tool. Wheeljack started to rub off the drying oil with a worn-out duster that he had snatched from under a half-finished something that had fizzled angrily at its creator when he accidentally grazed it in order to grab the piece of fabric. Bumblebee shook his head amusedly, silently thanking that Wheeljack had managed to survive himself for so long.

Sunbreeze grinned slyly at the inventor. "You mean immoral."

"Don't be so smart, now," Wheeljack drawled, not really putting any effort into being scary or strict.

"He's hardly smart, I'm afraid," Bumblebee cut in, feeling the need to ridicule his charge, albeit amicably. It was a common practice if one wished for a relationship to grow stronger. A few smug remarks here, some harmless bickering there, and Primus Almighty would do the rest. He laughed when Sunbreeze shot him a dirty but playful look, relieved that his job at bonding had been spot on.

Raising his head haughtily, the youngling sniffed. "You're just jealous of my incredibly cool wheels."

Bumblebee did his best to stifle a snort, rebooting his vocaliser to get rid of it completely before saying, "Oh, yes, Sun, you're absolutely right."

"Of course I am," the youngling answered merrily, smiling down at his pedes and not noticing his sarcasm at all. "'Cause, really, Bee, how awesome is this?" he asked, gripping the edge of the workbench tightly in his excitement. "I can roll and I don't need to transform to do it! No more figure alteration classes or info to download. I just have to do that switch thingy and I'll be ready to go."

"Oh, don't you even think of skipping transformation classes because you have those now," Wheeljack said, scowling at Sunbreeze disapprovingly. Bumblebee couldn't help but notice how out of place a scowl looked on the inventor's faceplates. "You little brats only care about being the fastest. Well, let me tell you, transforming is not just a talent our kind possesses and masters perfectly; it's also a _lifestyle_. And we're not called Transformers for nothing. We transform. It's already depressing enough that we have to teach young ones something that came as part of the basic Cybertronian programming before."

"It's been at least five generations since that stopped, Wheeljack," Bumblebee reminded him, placing a supporting servo on his charge's shoulder-strut. "It's not Sun's fault to be so uninterested in transforming."

"It's not like I don't want to transform," Sunbreeze hurried to say. "I just, you know…" He scratched the back of his sleek white helmet awkwardly, as if by doing so his thoughts would align and he would be able to express himself correctly. Shrugging helplessly, the youngling restarted, "I just find it harder than most. I wanna be able to do it _now_, not later, so it's kinda frustrating sometimes, to see the other bots getting the gist of it while I'm… not."

Wheeljack blinked once at the admission before fidgeting slightly and casting a nervous glance at Bumblebee. He simply raised an optic ridge at him, prompting him to do something about his charge's sudden sulkiness. It had been his fault, after all. But Wheeljack seemed to be at a loss of what to do, because cheery witty younglings such as Sunbreeze rarely confessed to have academic issues, and thus the inventor's usually spontaneous persona found itself stumbling for a plan of action.

Giving up on the older mech, the scout warbled quietly, gripping Sunbreeze's terribly small shoulder a bit more strongly—just enough to let the child know that his shortcomings at learning were in no way his fault. Bumblebee refused to believe that the little spark under his care was dysfunctional. It was probably some corrupted file or a badly installed programme that was doing a poor job at running whatever data he downloaded from his teachers. _That must be it_, Bumblebee insisted inwardly.

"Don't worry, Sunbreeze," Wheeljack mumbled, suddenly finding his spanner utterly fascinating as he talked. "I'm quite sure you'll get the gist of it, too, soon enough."

"I really hope I do," he said, with a tinge of desperation coating his voice, "or else Jazz will never let me live it down." A short silence filled the room, and neither Wheeljack nor Bumblebee confirmed or denied what Sunbreeze had just said, but they were all too sure that the saboteur would make good on his amicable threats: he _would_ make fun of a Transformer that couldn't transform. The scout removed his servo from his charge's shoulder-strut and leaned against a worktable, crossing his arms casually as he scrutinized Sunbreeze, who, quickly shaking his distress aside, beamed at his modified pedes again. "But these'll do for now, right? I mean, some bots are _bound_ to eat their hearts out."

Wheeljack tore his optics away from his spanner, giving the youngling an odd look but letting out an encouraging warble all the same. Bumblebee stared at the inventor, silently commanding him to refrain from doing any further comments. "You'll be the envy of the Base, I'm sure," he then conceded, his optics suddenly twinkling affectionately at the way his charge's moods changed. Unpredictable like the Rust Sea on a windy day.

"I don't particularly fancy being pinned with green glares, but I do like the fact that I won't be teased for hitching rides from you anymore," Sunbreeze started swinging his legs again. Bumblebee canted his helmet to the side confusedly when the youngling gave him, out of nowhere, an embarrassed smile. "Not that I don't like hitching rides from you or anything, Bee."

"Don't worry, Sun, I get it," the scout said warmly, brushing Sunbreeze's guilt aside with an unconcerned shrug.

"Yeah, Sunbreeze. Don't feel guilty about wishing some independence," Wheeljack chimed in, and the younger bots turned to him curiously. He tossed he now shiny spanner next to a pile of seemingly clean tools before clarifying himself. "There's always a time in which every mentor must face the fact that—"

"I'm not his mentor," Bumblebee interrupted, shocked at how breezily the older mech could joke about such serious matters. Fortunately, he knew it was just one of Wheeljack's disconcerting attempts at humour, or he would already be screaming 'blasphemy.' He pictured himself in a parental role and shivered. Despite having been trained to be prepared for the unthinkable, there were certain things he simply wasn't ready for. Even a 'big brother' role was too overwhelming for him, regardless of how sincerely correct it sometimes felt to coddle the child and act as family.

"Oh, Primus, the _horror_," Sunbreeze staged, covering his optics as if they had been suddenly exposed to an overly bright, damaging light. Bumblebee was glad to see he hadn't been the only one who thought Wheeljack's comment to be utterly _wrong_. "Defrag, defrag, defrag, defrag!"

Shaking his head blithely, Wheeljack pushed an empty box off of his chair and, ignoring the loud clang the object made when it hit the floor, sat down. "Dunno why you kids are so scared about mentorship."

"Because we're still kids, maybe?" Sunbreeze said in a hiss. "Mentorship is for grown-ups. I'm practically a new-born, as much as I hate to admit it, and Bee over here is barely an adult."

The scout glared at his charge. "That was uncalled-for."

Sunbreeze narrowed his optics challengingly at him. "What? It's true," the youngling defended himself, sliding his thin optic ridges into a sulky line. "You can't punish me for being honest."

"No, but I really want to," Bumblebee grumbled, twitching his doorwings in annoyance.

Just what his already precarious confidence regarding that subject needed: his charge, who was virtually a child, considered him to be… a child. It was really starting to get the scout's wires in a knot whenever someone talked about him as if he were a hatchling of some sort. Admittedly enough, he wasn't as old as other Autobots, but he was pretty sure that Cliffjumper (who was only a vorn older and had thus grown up and attended the training camp alongside him) wasn't reminded of his young age so often. Maybe it was because he was red and sturdy and a bit rough around the edges; maybe, Bumblebee mused, he should start showing how hardened he actually had become in the last deca-vorn, too.

"Well, Bumblebee," said Wheeljack brightly, meaning to dissipate the now mildly dense atmosphere, "the fact that you don't get back at him even though you want to proves your adulthood best."

The scout shot him an incredulous look. "Are you trying to appease me?"

"Is it working?" the inventor asked cheekily, earning himself a laugh from Bumblebee. "Hmm, looks like it is."

"I wasn't even mad, to begin with." He gave Sunbreeze a mock-punch, conscious to be gentle about it. "Just a bit annoyed."

The youngling stuck his glossa at him, not really caring if that exasperated him even more. Turning away from him, Sunbreeze tilted his head questioningly. "Hey, Wheeljack, who else has my upgrade?"

"I do," the inventor said proudly, only to then let out a disagreeing hum. He scratched one of his fins with absentmindedness. "I mean, did. Already removed them. I dislike rolling, if it's not in my alt-mode. I do like to have a first-hand experience when testing out my inventions, though, so I put up with it for a couple joors."

A mischievous grin spread across Sunbreeze's faceplates, and he leaned towards the inventor slightly. "Did you fall on yo—?"

"Sunbreeze!" Bumblebee squawked, and Wheeljack burst out laughing. The scout flattened his antennae nervously and started to mutter how sorry he was and that the youngling wasn't so bold and daring, usually. He blamed some of the behaviour on the stress suffered the orn before, and cast a few scornful glances as his now rueful-looking charge.

The inventor chirped it all aside, rubbing at his optics so that they would refocus. "That's alright. He's got a personality. Just make sure Ratchet doesn't notice."

"Speaking of Ratchet," Sunbreeze said, his submissive bashfulness quickly replaced by a flippant curiosity, "he says he spends most of his free time reattaching your arms because you blow them off on a daily basis," he stated, but poised it as a soft inquiry, eager to know if the legendary, epically bizarre and somewhat funny explosions in Wheeljack's workshop were actually true or not.

"Okay, first of all, Ratchet doesn't have free time. He just likes to make you believe that he does so you feel guilty or he can pretend to have a motive for being cranky with you. He's a pit-spawn with a full timetable; get that straight. And yes, I admit that he reattaches my arms more often than he'd like, but it's not like they get blown off always."

Bumblebee stared at him. "Indeed. Sometimes, your legs do."

Sunbreeze started laughing, and Wheeljack stuttered a few incoherencies in his defence before his own chassis rumbled with a chuckle. "I do it in the name of science, and gladly so!"

"Well, science sounds painful," snickered Sunbreeze. "I'm staying away from it."

"I agree with Sun," Bumblebee said, rubbing his charge's head. "Being a scout is almost safe, compared to your profession."

"The fact that I blow myself up," Wheeljack said snobbishly, "doesn't mean this is a dangerous job in the least."

Bumblebee fixed the inventor with a flat, hard stare. "Of course not. You _make_ it dangerous, which is different. Right, Sun?"

"Absolutely agree," the youngling replied, grinning goofily at Wheeljack in that endearing yet vexing way of his. Bumblebee wondered if he did it on purpose to prove that he really was untouchable (or pretty close to being), and found it highly plausible. He shook his head and vented in fond exasperation, running a servo down his face.

Wheeljack imitated him, but added a dramatic roll of the optics before pinning Sunbreeze with a lazy gaze. "Fine. My trade's risky and I'm insane. Now shoo; get off my workbench."

With one last silly grin, Sunbreeze hopped off. Bumblebee watched him quietly, pleased to see him move so effortlessly, walking as if his pedes had always been that heavy and as if he wasn't trying to get used to a relatively complex frame upgrade. The youngling could be a little eccentric at times, believing simple things to be the most complicated of equations, but whenever he had one of his famous processor kick-starts, the scout remembered just why Sunbreeze had been allowed to graduate so terribly early. That was why, despite his eagerness to throw him back into the training camps, the scout didn't fret over his charge as much as others would.

A hiss of static escaped the child's vocaliser after his fifth step, and Bumblebee stiffened at the sound. He stared intently at the little white pedes before glaring reproachful lasers at Wheeljack. "You said there would be no pain."

"Ah, I know I did, it's just… I forgot to tell the kid that he has to take it easy at first," Wheeljack rubbed his neck, giving the pouting child an apologetic smile. "So, yeah, take it easy for now."

"Next time, please make sure to warn me _before_ and not _after_," Sunbreeze pleaded, a tinge of annoyance layering his voice. Bumblebee couldn't really blame him.

"Yeah, sorry," Wheeljack chuckled awkwardly. "So, uh, don't jump or stomp or run or hop or dance for the next three orns," the inventor said; as an afterthought, he also added, "And try not to walk much, either."

"Can I at least use the wheels?" Sunbreeze muttered, obviously displeased at the out-of-nowhere post-upgrade rules that were being thrown at him.

"Well, you can try," the inventor said, giving the youngling's pedes a pensive look. "They'll be a bit stingy at first. If you can handle that, then I don't really see a problem."

Sunbreeze seemed to consider this for a moment. "Can I go fast, or should I take it easy with the speed at first?"

Bumblebee followed the routinely conversation vaguely, already knowing that his charge would start using his brand new wheels the klik he stepped out of the workshop. He sighed, calculating how many messes Sunbreeze would get himself into because of the upgrade. The resulting numbers were high, but there was nothing he could do about it; he had known the pains it would cause him from the beginning so there was no point in turning back now. Sometimes, personal luxuries had to be ignored for the sake of another's. Besides, Sunbreeze's smile seemed to be radiating mirth. Considering that, Bumblebee didn't truly mind having to pull his charge out of trouble on a daily basis. Whoever said a youngling's smile was not worth a few processor-aches was a fool.

Bumblebee's antennae perked with a whirr, drawing attention to himself. "So, am I getting my sensor upgrade or what?"

Wheeljack, who had been in the middle of telling Sunbreeze how to do a double flip without falling flat on his tanks, levelled him with uncomprehending optics. "Wh—? Oh." Wheeljack's fins brightened. "Oh, right! Yes! The new sensor." He got up and started moving things around. "Oh, and I also have this new kit, you know. It has all kind of little gizmos that will make the procedure much smoother than usual," the inventor rambled enthusiastically; he always loved to brag about his newest acquisition. Suddenly, his movements turned sluggish with confused disappointment. "I could swear I had put it next to this red can." He pointed at the object before letting out a huff. "I put this can here specifically for that purpose!"

"Um… What purpose?" Sunbreeze asked uncertainly.

"To remind me where the kit was. You know, red's a shiny colour; hard to miss." Wheeljack scratched the tip of his fin, baffled.

"Maybe you misplaced it?" Bumblebee ventured, walking towards Wheeljack. "Here, let me help you find it."

"No, it's not necessary. I had placed it right here…" the inventor trailed off, again pointing to an empty space next to the red can. Bumblebee gazed at his friend amusedly before he started to snoop around, finally crouching down next to the table. "It's not there, Bumblebee. I wouldn't be so careless," he heard Wheeljack say.

"Yes, you would," the scout contradicted him.

Sunbreeze let out a small chuckle. "If it were up to you, tidiness wouldn't exist," he teased.

"Who needs it, anyway?"

Bumblebee rolled his eyes at them, despite knowing that they couldn't see him. Wheeljack could be very childishly when he wanted to but that was okay, because he got away with it just fine. He was an eccentric mech, not to mention an inventor. It was an unwritten rule that ignoring his quirks was for the best of everyone's sanity.

He pushed aside some dirt, finally glimpsing what looked like a brand new kit, if one didn't keep in mind the layer of dust covering it.

"Think I found it," Bumblebee said. "'Kimia Facility Tool Kit'? Is that the one?"

"Yep."

The scout wanted to ask what on Cybertron was Wheeljack doing with one of those, considering just how far away from the facility they were, but decided that it would only cause him a processor-ache. The inventor tended to give weird explanations of weird things that had happened to him in ways that weren't easy to follow. Bumblebee scrambled out from under the table and got to his pedes, brushing some debris off of his kneepads as he silently handed over the small yet surprisingly heavy box.

"Thanks," Wheeljack said happily, snatching it away from Bumblebee and setting it on the workbench with reverential care. The front door let out a bleep, making Wheeljack smile at it. "Come in!"

A red mech that looked like Bumblebee, only slightly bulkier, entered and greeted them tiredly. The scout let out a chirp, drawing his childhood playmate's attention.

"Oh, hey, Bee!" Cliffjumper said, a bit of his fatigue scrapping away. "'Sup?"

Bumblebee shrugged, bumping fists with his friend. "The usual. What brings you here?"

"Oh, Wheeljack has a new weapon for me." He looked at the inventor and grinned broadly. "Don't'cha, old one?"

Wheeljack let his fins flicker amusedly. "Yes, I do. You wait here, I'll go get it."

Bumblebee watched him get lost in the piles of junk, hoping he didn't get crushed under anything. Some of the 'towers' the inventor made lacked equilibrium and threatened to come tumbling down at any moment. He supposed that Wheeljack wouldn't get deactivated because of a mere avalanche of kibble, anyway. The bot was tougher than that, not to mention he had already been buried under his own creations more times than anyone but him and a very pissed medic could care to count.

"Well, look who's also here," Cliffjumper rumbled as he tilted his head in greeting at Sunbreeze. "'Sup, rookie?"

"Hey," the youngling drawled, trying to look cool. "All good. Just got an upgrade, actually."

The red mech raised an optic ridge curiously. "You don't say." He gave Bumblebee a quick look. "Really?"

"He got himself retractable wheels," Bumlbebee provided.

"Oh, those are nice." Cliffjumper nodded to himself. "I'd get the upgrade myself, but I'd rather save up space for weapons, y'know? Being fast is useful, but I have a soft spot for blasting things to bits."

"Found it!" Wheeljack said suddenly, bringing with himself a small cannon. He tossed it into the air and grabbed it again with one servo. "I diminished its weight by a thirty-six point three-two-four percent. Not bad for a quick project, yes?"

"Not bad at all, Jack," Cliffjumper acknowledged, reclaiming his weapon and opening a plate in his right arm, carefully placing the cannon inside. A few wires sprung to life and slithered into place, reconnecting the gun to the mech's systems. With a quick movement, the plating slid back into place. "I'm gonna try it right now in the shooting range."

"Oh, could you take Sunbreeze with you? You could teach him a thing or two while I change Bumblebee's sensors." Wheeljack said.

Cliffjumper shrugged and looked at the scout. "If it's alright with Bee, I don't mind taking care of the rookie."

Bumlbebee let out a sigh. It made him uneasy but it would be for the best. "It's alright."

The youngling raised an optic ridge sceptically. "What? No one asks my opinion? Why should I obey you and just go?"

Wheeljack answered by raising his own optic ridge, adding a sharp flicker of his fins as he sat down next to the workbench. "Would you rather have me make a mess because you distracted me?"

"No," Sunbreeze answered quickly.

"Then go with Cliffjumper, and Bumblebee will pick you up after he's done here," Wheeljack said patronizingly.

The youngling wrinkled his olfactory sensors at the inventor before turning in his heels and heading for the red bot. Bumblebee had the foreboding that his charge wouldn't let them get away with deciding for him. It would be hard trying to recharge that night, when the youngling finally felt brave enough to start complaining. He sat down next to Wheeljack, groaning inwardly and already playing all the possible scenarios in which he would have to drive Sunbreeze away from a mindless outburst.

Stopping in his tracks, the child turned around and locked gazes with him as if he had been called out loud. "Should I stay?"

Bumblebee blinked stupidly at this, for what those words actually meant was 'do you want me to stay?' He wasn't scared of upgrades, unlike some Autobots, and the irritating pinch of pain they provoked as his processor and other circuits adjusted to the new innards he could handle just fine on his own. There was no purpose in keeping Sunbreeze straddled there with him, but Bumblebee's sentimental nature craved to have a familiar hand clutching his inert one while being operated.

"No, Sun, it really is alright," he waved his servo serenely. "Go. I'll be here if you need anything."

"Okay," Sunbreeze said; he looked up at Cliffjumper. "Let's go, then."

"Let's go, then," the mech repeated, giving the youngling a tiny smile and leading him out the door. Bumblebee couldn't help but notice how very tiny his charge was compared to his friend. When the child walked out Cliffjumper turned around just long enough to cradle his hands to his chest in a very femme-like gesture. He squealed through their communiqué, [He's so damn cute!] and then glided out proudly, his mechness back on.

Bumblebee shifted in his seat and looked expectantly at Wheeljack, who in return quirked his electrifying blue optics in an eager smile. "Sunbreeze's a nice kid. He's going to be a fine mech when he grows up."

"I sincerely hope so," Bumblebee said. "I would never forgive myself if he didn't."

"Oh, don't worry, Bumblebee! You're doing a great job as his mentor," the older mech said.

"I'm not his mentor, Wheeljack."

The inventor frowned, standing up and starting to move things around in his workbench. "Not a mentor, not a caretaker, not a brother…" he listed, then sighed. He gave Bumblebee an openly questioning look. "Then what are you to him, exactly?"

"More like a guardian," the scout explained. "He's my charge. I'm supposed to take care of him and teach him things."

"That sounds like a mentor. To me," he added quickly after seeing the scout's expression. "I mean, guardians just watch over, and to be a caretaker, you have to create the brat."

"I'm too young to have a child of my own, Wheeljack," said Bumblebee, scandalized.

The inventor laughed merrily. "Primus, you look so scared! I _know_ you just became an adult; it's obvious that you're not ready to be a parent unit yet."

"Exactly, so stop making that kind of comments." Bumblebee shot him a glare. "You do it on purpose just to mess with me."

"Well, yes. I miss the times when you would throw tantrums, and the closest you get to those nowadays is when you get flustered," Wheeljack revealed casually. He held up a microchip that would soon be a part of Bumblebee and scanned it as he smiled amicably, muttering the statistics to himself. "About the sensor you're about to acquire… Mirage has the same model. Know what that means?"

"Can't sneak up on him?"

"No. Well, yes, but it also means that this little thing," Wheeljack held it up to Bumblebee's optics, "was powerful enough to make him dizzy for a complete orn. Him, Mirage, Mr Too Noble To Have Headaches."

The scout frowned. "But… I have to send a report."

"The one Prowl asked you about this morning?" the inventor asked as he subspaced the microchip.

"Yeah."

"Too bad," Wheeljack said in a sing-song voice. "You'll be on medical leave the next two orns, so he'll have to wait. And don't you dare 'but' me," the inventor added when he saw Bumblebee trying to complain, so the scout slumped in his chair, defeated.

"Okay, fine, whatever," he mumbled.

Wheeljack's fins flashed brightly for a moment. "Oh, I almost forget: what were those 'hearts' Sunbreeze was talking about before? Some new slang?" he asked curiously.

"Um… Something in between." Bumblebee rubbed his cheek-strut. "That's just another of his words."

The inventor turned around and started inspecting his new kit's tools. "Told ya he was weird."

"Iron calling the steel grey?"

"Argh, forget I said anything," Wheeljack mumbled, making Bumblebee laugh. The inventor put down a tool and clapped his hands once. "All right! We both know this is a simple procedure, or else Ratchet wouldn't even consider contemplating _perhaps_ allowing me, in an extremely distant future, to do the upgrades in his place."

Bumblebee nodded. "Yes, I know."

"Mm… There shouldn't be any mishaps," finished Wheeljack, critically inspecting a spanner from up close and tossing it away when he deemed it not qualified for the task.

It landed with a loud bang against a pile of scrapped metals that came crashing down at the impact. Bumblebee winced at the mess, glancing at Wheeljack from the corner of his optic to see what he would do, but the mech simply harrumphed and kept on rummaging through the kit.

"Wasn't that supposed to be a super-awesome spanner?" the scout asked weakly.

"Super-awesome doesn't make it super-useful," Wheeljack answered simply as he scrutinized a glinting screwdriver. "This one will do," he murmured happily and set it aside to use. Pointed over his shoulder at an operation table that Ratchet had threatened him to install, the inventor said, "The berth's clean—I think. Well, it should be; I cleaned it yesterday. Go lay down and I'll be there in a breem."

Bumblebee did as he was told, venting cool air through his circuits as his body relaxed for the upgrade. He searched for shapes in the ceiling infested with wires, cables and chains to keep himself entertained until the improvised medic popped his head into his range of vision, smiling reassuringly. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," answered Bumblebee.

"Okay… Open up your wrist-port." He obediently did so, and Wheeljack grinned. "Good mech. It irks me when a bot starts whining about 'how weird' and 'funny' these connections are. I mean, do they want the upgrade or not?" Wheeljack snorted, fiddling with the cable. "Brats."

Bumblebee shrugged noncommittally, trying not to look too thrilled by what was about to happen. He had missed joining minds with one of his mentors. "Maybe connecting to a mech that blows himself up makes them fretful."

The inventor let out an indignant hiss of static before thrusting his wrist-cable into the scout's wrist-port. "Oh, mute it!" he huffed, and Bumblebee chuckled as his optics faded to black.


	3. It's for the Best

**Author's Note:** Sorry for taking so long on the update! This was reaaally rushed but I still hope you'll find it entertaining, guys. I'll come back and fix some annoying mistakes/errors/structures later.

* * *

**Preface**  
**Chapter 3: It's for the Best**

The bullet hit the wall with a sharp snapping sound, several feet away from its meant target. A tense silence filled the shooting booth from which the gunshot had been made, momentarily making the excessive noise outside fade to background noise.

"I told you to _aim_," Cliffjumper grunted out.

"I did," Sunbreeze retorted irritably, glaring with all his might at the gun in his tiny servos. He knew that the red mech wasn't annoyed at him but at the fact that he had had to subspace his brand-new cannon in order to give him a shooting lesson.

Venting a sigh, Sunbreeze looked up at his makeshift tutor with narrowed optics. He hated Cliffjumper's snarky criticism; he hated being given guns that were too heavy and big for him; but above all else, he hated the shooting range. In addition to its dull, parallel lanes and target-ridden walls, the place was filled with rabid hollering and hysterical laughter, not to mention the constant firing of guns, clicking of triggers and whirring of cannons. The place had the capacity to, after only fifteen breems of being in there, make Sunbreeze want to crawl under a soundproof berth and stay there until the end of eternity.

To add insult to injury, learning to use a weapon was harder than he had expected. He knew that he was a youngling and, as such, almost every lethal object he held would do anything but what he wanted it to do. He wasn't ready to handle such things or brace against their recoil, after all, but Sunbreeze was a junior soldier and thus needed to know how to blow someone's head off—in his opinion, anyway. Being able to take a gun and shoot was an inarguable, painfully obvious must.

Cliffjumped smacked him in the back of the head. "Wrong. You did exactly what I told you not to. _Face_ the damn target, don't give it the cold shoulder; that's not gonna kill it. Your pedes must be shoulder width apart. Good, like th—_No_." The mech buried his face in one of his bulky servos. "_Not_ like that."

Sunbreeze shot him an irritable but confused look over his shoulder. "What? They are shoulder width apart!" he defended himself.

"Yes, but your knees are stiff. Bend them slightly…" Cliffjumper said, crouching down and poking at the back of Sunbreeze's knee-joints in his impatience. "Like that. Better."

"Don't poke me," Sunbreeze muttered.

Cliffjumper straightened, glaring at him. "You're insufferably snippy. Ironhide would have your aft scrapped the moment you dared to complain."

"Yeah, well," said the youngling, throwing a haughty look at the red mech, "you're not Ironhide, are you?"

"Shut up and aim," Cliffjumper rumbled. Deciding not to tempt his luck so shamelessly, Sunbreeze held up his arms in front of him, fixing the target with an unmoving glare. "Arms locked," the soldier warned, and he squared his shoulders.

"Like this?"

"Eh, kinda," the warrior said dismissively. "Now, optics on the target. And don't vent air when you pull the trigger, 'cause it just increases the chances of messing up your balance when you shoot."

"So I just hold still?" Sunbreeze asked.

"Yup, that's right," the red warrior confirmed, giving the youngling a smug smirk. "You just be a statue till you're done shooting."

"Okay," Sunbreeze answered.

Outside their booth, the shooting and the shouting continued, but inside it stillness reigned. Sunbreeze's bright baby-blue optics zeroed in on the bull's-eye as he tried to access basic battle coding that was still encrypted due to his young age. He fumbled with the mental locks and firewalls before being able to snatch away some threads of information that would be useful, and then he waited for Cliffjumper to tell him what to do next. The red mech leaned closer, tipping his servos lower before grunting out approvingly at the rifle's angle. He grazed one of Sunbreeze's shoulder-plates with his talons, offering a quiet support that the youngling soaked in.

"Okay, get ready," Cliffjumper murmured, allowing himself a dramatic pause. "Now shoot."

Sunbreeze pulled the trigger… and missed the target by half a metre.

He cussed loudly.

The entire mystique of the moment, all the built-up thrill his young little frame had felt as he prepared to do a mind-blowingly perfect shot disappeared in less than a blink. The flawlessness of the instant, almost too beautiful and poetic to disturb, had been hit with a shovel and buried thirty feet under Cybertron's cold, coppery ground. Sunbreeze let out another string of foul words, convinced that Cliffjumper would tell Bumblebee about his colourful vocabulary later on. But he didn't really care at the moment. He simply wanted to hit the Primus-forsaken target. Was that too much to ask for?

Cliffjumper frowned at him but instead of feeling embarrassed and calming down he kicked the ground in an outburst of anger, prompting his temporary tutor to snatch the gun away from him. "Whoa, hey, you little savage."

"But I never hit the target! It's annoying!" Sunbreeze made a strangled howling noise and then whined as the pain flooded his processor. He had forgotten he wasn't supposed to stomp. "Hurts."

"Geez, just how does Bee manage with you?" Cliffjumper murmured with disbelief, placing the confiscated gun on the shallow counter that protruded off one of the booth's walls. "Stop wailing. They'll think I caused it."

"Hurts," he insisted dumbly, which prompted Cliffjumper to scoop him up roughly. He let out an indignant yelp. "Put me down! I'm not a frigging sparkling."

"But I'll be damned if you don't act like one," the soldier grunted, tightening his iron hold on him with decided fierceness. Sunbreeze responded by squirming even more, barely restraining his need to send Bumblebee a hundred pings of distress in the span of a nanoklik. "Seriously, kid, stop it. What the pit hurts?"

Writhing miserably in the bigger bot's grasp, the youngling whined some more before answering the inquiry. "Jack's upgrade."

Cliffjumper's rumble came out with a worried edge to it. "The wheels? Should I ping Ratchet?"

"No," Sunbreeze pouted, crossing his arms over his breastplates. He was old enough to live through some post-upgrade displeasure just fine, thank you very much. There was no need to fret over such a mundane ache. "I'm good."

The melee soldier stared at him for a few kliks before shrugging. "Suit yourself, but I'm not getting an optic torn out of my helm just because you were stubborn. If Bee asks, you tell him exactly this: you are a snarky bratling, and behaved like one. Clear?"

"Yes," Sunbreeze muttered.

"I've heard Wheeljack say that built-in wheels are a bit of a pain in the aft if you don't take it easy at first so maybe you should be recharging," Cliffjumper said conversationally.

Sunbreeze gave another wiggle, this one much tamer than his other attempts at freeing himself from his babysitter, but at the same time more desperate. "No. No, Wheeljack didn't say anything about recharging. I wanna wait for Bee."

"Bee's gettin' his sensors upgraded, remember?" Cliffjumper murmured, loosening his arms around the youngling's chassis. "It could take him a while to come pick you up, and when he does, he's gonna be all trippy." The soldier shifted his stance and thus his hold on Sunbreeze, making him want to retort something acid when he heard a distinctive hum-whirr coming from inside the soldier's red helm. He tilted his head curiously at him, as if prompting him to speak. Cliffjumper narrowed his optics at him. "What."

"Well, don't you just leave me out," Sunbreeze said innocently. "Who pinged you?"

"Prowl. Mission assignment. Top secret."

"Prowl would never assign you top-secret stuff," Sunbreeze frowned at Cliffjumper. "You're a loudmouth; the parties chosen by him are silent-stealth in type. Mechs like Jazz, Mirage and Dino get assigned, not mechs like _you_."

"I'd be offended if your opinion mattered, but seeing how you're kind of the base's mascot, I don't really care." The warrior rolled his optics. "I have been included in a group that's supposed to run some lousy recon mission in Tyger Pax."

"Tyger… Tyger Pax?" Sunbreeze's optics widened in disgust. "As in abandoned, rusting Tyger Pax?"

"That's the one, yeah." Cliffjumper settled him on the floor with some hesitation. "Are your pedes feeling better, kid?"

"Ah? Oh, yup," he nodded, giving the red soldier a smile. "I just have to remember not to stomp and I'll be fine."

"Hmm, well, I gotta go talk to Arcee about the details of the mission. She's been chosen as a party member, too, and she's always more informed than I am," Cliffjumped rumbled a laugh. "You comin' or you want me to drop you off at the Rec Room?"

"No, I'm coming," Sunbreeze chirped, following Cliffjumper out of the booth. He waited as the mech deactivated the lane they had been using. "So, who else got assigned?"

"Not really sure," Cliffjumper said, starting to walk away. Sunbreeze trotted after him. "As far as I know, we're just a few Autobots. The groups probably gonna get bigger, since that area is so deserted. To be honest, I dodn't know why we would ever get sent to a place like that; I mean, 'in ruins' barely describes that area's state. Maybe the latest scouting mission turned up with some Decepticons sightings." Cliffjumper growled menacingly as they strolled out of the shooting range. "If that's the case, I'm ready to shoot some purple afts."

"You think I could go?"

"No way, kid. It's gonna be sorta dangerous and you're not ready for missions like that yet. You're probably staying on base," Cliffjumper said.

"Why? I want to go! I want to help you guys," Sunbreeze said. "I can be of use; just let me prove it—"

"Listen, Sun," Cliffjumper snapped, whirling around and bending down so quickly that Sunbreeze gave a startled step back. There was something in the red mech's optics, however, that scared him even more than his sudden movement: they looked lonely and sad. "You staying here is for the best. That way we'll avoid any tragedies and no one will want to forget themselves over a _tank_ of energon."

"O-okay…" Sunbreeze murmured, and Cliffjumper looked away embarrassedly before resuming their walk.

"Trsut me, kid. It's for the best."

* * *

There was brightness all around and his processor was flooding him with hordes of information, streams of data that were too much to handle for him right at that moment. Bumblebee wanted to frown at the digital torrent of knowledge but instead locked it away with a blocking programme. Silence filled his mind, now free of the overflow of _everything_ and _anything_, and the scout sighed in relief. He had been warned about the overwhelming efficiency of the newest sensor but he hadn't really considered it; he had always had to learn how to deal with adjusting his systems to new levels of sensibility. This particular upgrade, nonetheless, had certainly taken the scout with his guard down.

Blinking owlishly, Bumblebee attempted to sit up and was gently held down by a smiling Wheeljack. He squinted his optics at the brightly flashing fins, trying to remember how to talk in order to beg the engineer to turn them off. All trace of speech capability remained haughtily hidden within his rearranging processor, however, so off-lining his visual feed for the moment would have to do.

"Easy there," Wheeljack's voice rumbled, kind and ever-so-merry. "You just got a sensory upgrade, and I assume you don't want to make the helm-ache any worse than it is, aye?" he continued, and Bumblebee nodded. A spark-felt chuckle reverberated in the room. "Too dizzy to talk, eh? Well, never mind. You'll be as good as new soon."

Bumblebee flicked his wrist in a noncommittal wave, whirring piteously before going quiet with exhaustion.

"Be a good bot and stay down for a while, 'kay?" Wheeljack murmured, and Bumblebee felt the engineer patting his shoulder-plate. "By the way, Bumblebee, I've been meaning to as you for some time now… Sunbreeze is… whose?"

Bumblebee couldn't help it; he warbled sadly. He had wondered the same thing more times than he could count, and only one haunting answer stalked his mind every time he dared to stop stalling and reached a conclusion. Knowing how benevolent Autobots were, most people would have expected at least one of them to reach out a paternal hand to Sunbreeze, offering the comfort that no mentor could give. Yet, the War was proving to smother lives and destroy families more easily than it should be, so no bot wanted to risk getting overly attached to such a fragile being since he could be gone in less than a spark-beat.

Bumblebee tried his best to get a grasp of his vocalizer and booted it up forcefully. This was a conversation he had wanted to have with someone influential for some time now… and Wheeljack _was_ resourceful. "I don't—" Bumblebee's voice broke into static, but he reset it quickly. "I don't think he's anyone's."

He heard something that sounded like Wheeljack sagging against his workbench. "But… he's such a nice youngling."

"Many bots are afraid of losing what is precious to them," Bumlbebee murmured into the blackness. "They don't wish to add yet another cog to their wheel of vulnerabilities."

"Makes sense, to be honest," Wheeljack grimaced, rubbing at his wrist. "But, frag, Sunbreeze doesn't deserve this. Bondless. He's actually _bondless_."

"As much as we don't like the situation, we must accept that these happenings are common during war times, Wheeljack," Bumblebee tried to rationalize, his own discontentment at the situation threatening to surface. "Sun is one of many bondless younglings."

"Well, it shouldn't be like this. There shouldn't be bondless younglings out there. No," Wheeljack shook his head. "Just no."

"And what will you do about it, Wheeljack?" asked Bumblebee, on-lining his optics with the barest of flinches. "You can't adopt them all, and you certainly won't adopt Sunbreeze."

Wheeljack straightened at this. "Who says I won't?"

"I do," the scout replied calmly. He wasn't going to flip over and start yelling threats at the very much flimsy prospect of having Sunbreeze taken from him. "He's my responsibility, and he's made abundantly clear that he dreads the idea of being adopted if that means that we are to be separated."

"Would you deny him the love of a parent unit just because of a childish whim?" reproached Wheeljack, narrowing his optics at Bumblebee. "Would you, in fact, do that?"

"I am not denying him anything, Wheeljack," Bumblebee rebuffed, raising his antennae defensively. "I have tried to coax him into considering adoption but he refuses to listen."

"Well, slaggitall, the kid's weird, right? He just doesn't know what he's turning down. We just have to take the lead."

"Are you implying that we force him into adoption?" Bumblebee didn't know if he should be horrified, filled with rage, or both.

"No! Primus above, I'm not saying that! I'm an Autobot, not some tyrannical Decepticon," Wheeljack's cooling fans on-lined, silently keeping him from overheating at the discussion he had started. "I was suggesting not stopping the coaxing until he sees reason."

Bumblebee let out a hiss through his vents, leaning against his chair when he finally relaxed again. "I guess," he muttered.

There was an awkward pause in which both bots avoided looking at each other directly.

"He had a dream yesterday," Bumblebee finally said. "I mean—_his_ kind of dreams. Not the occasional memory purge; his processor was doing that annoying malfunction again. Creating images from scratch for him to see."

Wheeljack paused, turned to face Bumblebee as he polished a drill's bit and grimaced. "That again. I don't know how that's even possible. His scans always come up clean of glitches."

"Maybe it's a virus. Or a loose wire?" the scout supplemented hopefully.

Wheeljack shook his helm. "No. All's normal, stable. That's why Ratchet and I can't quite know what's wrong. I'm sorry to say this so straightforwardly, but I think that the kid's just fragged up. Maybe someone dropped him when he was a sparkling and something got irreparably loose."

Bumblebee shook his helm stubbornly. "He's just different."

"One Pit of a lot different, for sure."

"Perhaps… but in the good way," Bumlbebee said, his optics quirking upwards in a small smile.

Wheeljack hummed. "Have to agree with that. He's a nice kid," he started moving things about on his workbench. "Anyway, what did he dream?"

"He was alone in some sort of organic planet," Bumblebee said. "Lots of green and brown and blue."

"Organic?" the engineer asked with wide, curious optics. His fins flashed bright colours in a show of his interest. "Like… decomposing matter? Rotting cells? That kind of organic?"

"Yes, Wheeljack. That kind of organic," responded Bumblebee.

"Fascinating," Wheeljack murmured, his optics getting lost somewhere in the distance as his hungry processor started to play with various scenarios and possibilities and inventions. Bumblebee vented a weary sigh and, taking advantage of the fact that the engineer was distracted, sat up slowly. The helm-ache was dizzying, true, but it didn't feel unbearable. Not yet, at least.

"It wasn't a nice dream, though," he continued. "It was a nightmare."

"A nightmare," Wheeljack repeated, snapping out of his stupor and automatically attempting to push him back down despite his unwillingness to remain lazing about much longer. "I suppose it wasn't a peaceful recharge, then."

"No." Bumblebee scooted to the wall and leaned against it, pressing his back and door-wings flush against the sleek—if dirty—surface, impeding Wheeljack from making him lay down unless he yanked him away from the wall… something which would not be happening due to Bumblebee just having had an upgrade. He tried not to look smug at his obvious victory and continued his narration, "He hates them, and comes online distressed when he's just had one."

"Poor bratling," the inventor said, crossing his arms in surrender. "I wouldn't like being in his armour."

"I have tried to convince the Prime of taking Sunbreeze back to the training facility, but he won't listen." Bumblebee frowned distastefully at the thought of his superior's unwillingness to take a youngling someplace safer than an Autobot HQ. A jolly visor and clever smile crossed his mind. "Neither will Jazz."

"Well, Sunbreeze was eager to scram from that boot camp, wasn't he?" Wheeljack commented, arranging spanners of different sizes. "That's why he took the graduation exam before time, in the first place. I doubt Optimus or any other bot, for that matter, would be willing to take him back to the place he least wanted to be in."

"But he was not in harm's way there."

"True," he levelled Bumblebee with the gaze of an indulgent caretaker. "So were you, before you decided that your training was complete and took the exam before time."

Bumblebee stared, his processor frozen for a moment at the feeling of having the past you were so proud of come and kick you. There was no way on Cybertron that he was finding a consistent excuse to separate the decisions he had taken during his youngling days from Sunbreeze's, especially that one. Wheeljack laughed at his expression.

"I was… It was different!" the scout stuttered, embarrassed.

"I'm sure you believe it was," said Wheeljack breezily. "But that doesn't change the fact that it wasn't. There has always been a bratling that kicks and whines until he's allowed to join the big boys in their quest for goodness."

"I'm _not_ a bratling."

"Of course not!" Wheeljack exclaimed, his smile widening by the klik. "I meant Sunbreeze."

Bumblebee placed his servos on his knees impatiently, not knowing if the engineer was being sincere or just sarcastic.

"There have always been younglings," continued Wheeljack, "who have decided to be a part of the Autobot faction before they even know how to hold a rifle properly. Little mechs more than eager throw their safety away in the name of what they believe. You weren't the first and Sunbreeze won't be the last. It's just that actually letting you join the slaughter beforetime makes us, veterans and fully-fledged adults alike, feel kinda despicable."

"Yeah, well…" Not knowing what to answer, Bumblebee settled for slouching against the wall. "You aren't despicable," he murmured, more to himself than for Wheeljack to hear.

"Still, seeing a kid become a warrior when he's supposed to be playing…" the engineer gave a helpless shrug, gazing at him with tired, exhausted optics before decidedly turning his back on him and focusing on cleaning his tools.

There was so much pain, so much regret and self-loathing and mourning behind Wheeljack's smiles and laughs. The love that the older Autobots had for their youngsters was undeniable; the idea of them suffering when a youngling decided to join the battle (and actually permitting them to do so) was far from uncanny. Bumblebee felt a foreign guilt settle in his chest; guilt for the younglings who were sure to follow their steps and perish in horrible ways, guilt for all those times in which he had bristled at being treated like a kid.

"It's not your fault," the scout said softly. "Bratlings will always find a way to be warriors, if that's what they want to be."

"Yeah. Primus bless them."

Bumblebee wanted to say something else, wanted to stand up and hug his former mentor until every bit of shadow evaporated from behind the impossibly wise, blue optics. But he couldn't. He was an Adult, and as such, displays of affection of that calibre would be out of place. Even misinterpreted, if he embraced a mech with whom he hadn't shared any sort of bond before. This wasn't an extraneous mech, though, and no one would have to know of his misbehaviour. And if they did, he was sure they would be all too eager to blame it on some poorly erased youngling programme of his (everyone loved reminding him how young he was, after all).

Bumlbebee fiddled with his fingers, staring at Wheeljack's back intently. Something inside him rebelled against the social coding that had been installed in him when he left his Youngling stage behind. A not-so-long-dormant familial bond was nibbling at the seams of his logic, validating and excusing his urge. He began to stand.

A ping went off in his helm and, in his start and confusion, his blocking programme crashed. Millions, trillions, zillions of gigabytes of information flooded his still sensitive processor at the same time, screeching alerts and throwing numerical tantrums due to him neglecting irrelevant things that, for some reason, were labelled as highly important. There was a flash of blinding pain, and he thought he keened out in agony.

"—lebee?" someone cried. The voice's tone was a mixture of gentleness and panic; probably Wheeljack. Besides the emotions implied in his shriek, he was the only mech around.

Bumblebee tried to say something even as his new microchip decided that the most important thing to do now was open the file he had been sent. More information clawed its way into his mind, and he now was quite sure that the tormented howl he heard (distant due to the thunderstorm happening _inside_ him) was very much his. The microchip took hold of the file and decoded it for Bumblebee to understand. He was expected to go to Tyger Pax in a mission, with Prime himself promising to debrief the details to him on a later date.

Finally, stasis lock claimed him, and despite how often he dreaded the forceful lockdown, Bumblebee welcomed it with open arms.


	4. Author's Note

Hello, guys.

I haven't updated this fanfic in half a year, give or take, and felt that an explanation was needed.

To be completely honest, I'm blocked. I twisted the plot I had originally mapped out until it was rendered unrecognisable and fastened the pace of the story out of sheer idiocy. Thus, my muse went on strike because she Did Not Like my doing that. So... I'm giving this fanfic a revamp. I don't know how long it will take me because there are some major story-nodes that I have to revise, not to mention that I need a more solid concept on this spawn's headcanon before I fall victim to spewing nonsensical jargon. Also, did you people notice that OOCness? God, the _horror._

This story has a lot more potential and I'll make it shine like I should have from the beginning.

The old chapters will be replaced with the new ones, so I'd suggest you save them in your computer or something if you really, reaaally liked them or something. Also, I'll change the rating to M (it's original rating) because I like writing graphic scenes of violence and gore in general. If you have a weak stomach, sorry about that.

I promise you I'm not giving up this spawn o'mine. Preface is coming back, and it's coming back improved. Think of it as an upgrading!

For those of you who are against revamps: My sincerest apologies, chaps. :(

That's about it. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Till all are one!


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